Music of the Night
by Phantom Labyrinth
Summary: Lily Evans and James Potter have a lot to deal with: hypnotic students, an underground spy network within Hogwarts' walls, a suicidal Snape, a secretive Professor Binns, a unicorn, and Cormagnus outbursts. And of course, falling in love.
1. Threads of Fate

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Music of the Night**

Chapter 1: Threads of Fate

The sweltering rays of the fervent August sun beat down on the sweaty face of one extremely tall boy of about sixteen. He walked through the marketplace cautiously, examining every booth for suspicious eyes. He strode past tent after tent, hearing shouts of "Fish cakes! Get yer fish cakes! Nice n' 'ot!" and "Precious gems, jewels, and relics! Get 'em while supplies last!"

Despite the boy's lack of interest in the merchandise of a Middle Eastern market place, he found himself struggling to interpret the Arabic shouts of the traders. One can never know when the most insignificant details can come in handy.

He raised a hand to wipe his sweaty black hair out of his eyes. August was definitely not a good time to come to the Dasht-i-Kavir desert. Why hadn't he come during Christmas break? Anything better than this freakishly hot sun.

Sun. Son. Oh, he was a son no more. No, not now that the first phase of his plan was complete. And the second stage, well, just keep looking for the right tent, he told himself.

He paused a minute by a public fountain and scooped handfuls of the warm water up to his sticky face and into his parched mouth. He was savoring his moment of bliss when a loud uproar behind him sounded. He turned to see stout man standing on crate, flailing his hands about wildly. He seemed to be making some sort of protest.

He moved closer to hear the man's high, squeaky voice. "Don't think the Axis Powers aren't interested in us!" the boy picked up. "They've got nearly all of Europe! They won't stop until they have total, world domination! We must be wary! We must be alert! Do not let the attempts of cover-up deceive you! We are next! We are…"

The boy walked away smirking back toward the direction he had been going in before he stopped for what he thought was a waste of the short man's time as well as the time of everyone who had stopped to listen. He really couldn't have cared less about the Muggle war. Why should he? Everyone in his world knew Grindelwald was behind it, helping to torture those whom he considered "unworthy."

Grindelwald. The Terror of the wizarding world. The boy chuckled. Some terror. Resorting to fighting alongside muggles. Needing the backup of muggle soldiers, muggle machines, muggle war tactics. As if they knew anything. Now, to be really destructive, to be really, undeniably terrible, was a completely different matter. To truly be feared, one would be able to instill fright among the entire wizarding world at the mention of one's own name. To really be powerful, one had to gather followers who weren't dependent on big pieces of cumbersome metal. To be genuinely mighty and great, one would be able to vanquish entire towns, cities, and countries, with the flick of a wand and a few well-chosen words. Grindelwald was neither truly feared, really powerful, nor genuinely mighty and great, as much as he might have fancied himself to be.

The boy rose his head, squinting from the blinding sunlight, to see a dark purple tent about twenty feet away. _This is it_, he thought, as he read the sign tacked beside the beaded curtain that served as a door.

Madame Cassandra Trelawney

Seeress and Fortune-Teller

Learn your fate as the world-renowned seeress reads your palm, translates your tarot cards, and unfogs your future in her crystal ball.

Be astonished as the amazing Madam Trelawney demonstrates her uncanny psychic powers. Stand amazed as she prepares you for the trials ahead. Gape flabbergasted as she looks into your mind.

Behold Madame Cassandra Trelawney.

Price upon request.

He pushed aside the veil of colored beads and entered the tent. He immediately felt as though he had stepped into a giant kaleidoscope. Hanging on every wall were elaborately woven tapestries covered with geometric patterns. The floor was scattered with colored sand that seemed to have been bewitched to change colors at the touch of a footstep. He looked up at the ceiling to see a swirling chandelier filled with multicolored bulbs. Patches of red, gold, silver, blue and purple bounced off the walls as the candelabra turned. He assumed that it wasn't a real chandelier. For one thing, where on earth would Madame Trelawney have found an electricity line in the middle of the desert, and furthermore, a witch wouldn't need electricity anyway. He was sure it was just there for the effect. He turned around and nearly jumped backward at the surprising sight of a tiny wrinkled face peering at him from behind a tremendous mahogany desk.

"Hello, young sir!" piped the tiny woman. "Madame has been expecting you!" She pulled a pocket watch out from inside of her fuchsia robes and glanced at it. "Although you seem to have been delayed for a minute. Distracted by one of those demonstrators, were you, dear?"

The boy nodded.

The woman pulled out a clipboard from behind her voluminous desk and dipped a large peacock feather quill into a bottle of purple ink. "Name, dear?"

The boy pulled himself up to his full height and tried to appear as though he were a few years older, even though he knew that he could hardly conceal his age from the renowned seeress. "Tom Riddle."

The old woman turned her face up to him and looked directly into his dark blue eyes. She wore a pensive expression. "Ah, yes," she said quietly, almost as if to herself. "Tom Riddle." She stared at him for a few moments before catching herself doing just that. She busied herself behind her desk at once and said to him as she searched through drawers, "I am not a seeress, but I certainly am much acquainted with an exceptional one. I have learned of you, Tom Riddle." She closed the drawers without pulling anything out of them, fumbled with some parchment on the desk, and dipped her quill into ink once more. She wrote something on the clipboard in front of her, and although it was upside-down to Tom, he managed to see his name on the parchment before the ink seeped into it.

"You may sit over there while you wait for Madame," said the secretary without looking up. "She will be right with you." She unceremoniously waved her hand and a large olive green beanbag appeared in front of a fireplace that Tom was sure had not been there a minute ago. He sat down and twirled his wand in his long fingers, thinking about what he was about to do.

He had completed the first part of his plan: Get rid of my filthy muggle heritage. Tom allowed himself a small smile of triumph as he recalled the past week's events. He had Apparated to Little Hangleton five night's before. He wasn't of age yet, nor did he have his license, but the pitiful excuse of a government that wizarding fools called the Ministry could not possibly trace him in Little Hangleton. For all they or anyone else knew, he was still at that horrid muggle orphanage, being jeered at by the pesty nine-year-olds for his unnatural tallness and inability to be adopted by age sixteen. No, he was pretty much untraceable. Especially in the middle of a marketplace in Iran. Besides, the fact that he didn't have his Apparition license did not make him any less competent. He was, after all, the top student of his year, probably the school, and possibly of all pupils in the history of Hogwarts. Tom knew he was destined for great things. After all, with a brain like his, who wouldn't be interested in world-domination?

He had managed to find the house of his no-good excuse for a father, a muggle who had abandoned his mother before he was even born. That was the problem with muggles. They were scared of anything foreign or strange. They thought they were too good and too sophisticated for anything so outrageous as magic. It was thanks to muggles like his father that he had grown up among orphans. He had starved, been taunted, and had been treated like trash.

He had killed father, along with his grandparents. It had been easy and quick. Just a little green light, and that was all. Tom had felt no remorse. If anything, he had had a twinge of satisfaction. All evidence had been destroyed. No one would ever need know that he was a half-blood.

That was crucial to his plan. Of course, once he gained power it wouldn't matter even if his father had performed illegal charms on a goat. But while he was still gaining followers, it was critical to be perceived as a cold, heartless, power-hungry terror from a long line of cold, heartless, power-hungry wizards. And after he left that school for good, he would change his name. No one would ever know that the notorious Lord Voldemort was ever the gangly, half-blooded prefect.

Tom sank back deeper into the beanbag. Now for his next step: Talk to Madame Cassandra Trelawney. He had no doubts that he would be a powerful sorcerer one day, but wanted to know if there would be any bumps along he should know about. One can never be too cautious, after all.

Tom wanted nothing to stand in the way of true power. He would vanquish the world from the non-magical folk that had made his childhood a living hell. He would show everyone what he could do. He was brilliant. He was handsome. He was ambitious. And he knew it. There was no reason why he shouldn't succeed.

He sat this way for quite some time, his piercing eyes fixed on the flames in front of him. Strangely enough, cool air seemed to escape from them instead of heat. Tom welcomed the fresh breeze. He checked his wristwatch. He had been sitting in front of the fireplace for over an hour. He was about to ask the secretary when he would be allowed in when he heard a mystical voice coming from one of the tapestries. "Come in."

"You may go in, dear," said the secretary, not looking up. "The entrance is to your left, through the curtain."

"Thank you, ma'am," Tom responded politely. The woman would not meet his gaze.

Tom rose from the beanbag and turned left. He was surprised to see himself facing another beaded curtain. Perhaps he hadn't seen it because it blended in well with the tapestries. Or perhaps it hadn't been there before at all. He smiled. He had always had a fondness for magical doors. Disappearing doors, reappearing doors, invisible doors, doors that only opened during the quarter moon, doors that refused to lock for anyone with gray eyes, doors that sang, doors that were ticklish…

He pushed aside the curtain and looked around for Madame Trelawney. His eyes passed over her several times before he realized that the small bundle of cloth in the corner was in fact a woman.

"Ah, Mr. Tom Riddle," said the woman in a dreamy voice. "We meet at last. Please, have a seat."

Tom sat down on yet another beanbag, this time a deep red one, and examined the woman in front of him. He was unsurprised that he hadn't seen her when he first walked into the tent. Her numerous robes devoured her, engulfing her in a mass of color. A tiny face poked out from behind various scarves. Her wizened eyes were small and black, and her ears were flat against her head, almost invisible behind enormous gold hoop earrings. She gave Tom a small, toothless smile. He hesitantly smiled back. Tom always thought himself to be a rather good judge of human character. Based on Madame Trelawney's appearance, he decided immediately that he liked her. She definitely seemed like the genuine article. He could tell from the way in which she held her head and the sadness that was present in those inky eyes. She had seen the woes of the world and all of the troubles that would come in the future.

"Well?" said the seeress, clearly waiting for something. "I do believe some congratulations are in order."

Tom's smile turned to a look of puzzlement. "I beg your pardon, but I don't underst-"

"Oh, you see, my dear," said Madame in that airy voice. "In five minutes time I will be a great-great-grandmother."

Tom blinked. "Oh, well, congratulations then."

"Thank you dear. She will be something of a Seeress herself. You see, these things often skip three generations."

"Oh, I see." Tom stared at his hands.

"Tea, dear?" Tom looked up. Madame Trelawney was holding up a tiny purple teapot. Magically heated, of course. "Oh," he said. "Thank you."

She poured some of the hot liquid into his cup. "Long journey for a young European wizard like yourself." Tom opened his eyes wide with surprise. "Yes, I recognize a fellow wizard when I see one."

Tom nodded and sipped his tea, playing the role of a charming teenage young man.

"I suppose you're wondering why I station my practice in the middle of the Iranian desert."

Tom hadn't really been wondering, but he thought it ill mannered to disagree. "Yes. I was."

"Fortune-telling is quite the common occupation here among the gypsies. I blend in with the crowd. Imagine if I were to settle in the middle of London. As a psychic witch, I'd be a sure target, wouldn't you say?"

Tom understood. Grindelwald. "Oh, yes."

"You don't think much of Grindelwald, do you, Tom?"

Tom gaped at the woman who had calmly revealed to him what he had been feeling for the five years since he had entered the wizarding world. He felt more at ease. He didn't have to pretend anymore. This witch knew his most inner thoughts. She knew of his plans and ambitions. There was nothing to hide. "No. I do not." His tone was firm.

"May I ask _why_ not?"

"He is a coward."

She gazed at him intensely, pausing, going over her words in her mind before she spoke. "I once told Grindelwald his fortune. I saw his hunger, his thirst for power. I knew of the outrageous crimes he would commit to humanity. And yet, I told him his future." She leaned forward, her breath on Tom's face. "Do you know why, Mr. Riddle?"

He shook his head.

"It's because of who he was then." She drummed her fingers together. "I do not judge a person by who he will become. I judge a person by who he is. Do you understand, Tom?"

He merely stared back, not acknowledging that she had just asked him a question.

Madame Trelawney sat up suddenly, her pensive expression turning into a motherly smile. "Shall I read your cup, dear?"

Tom handed her his now empty teacup. He watched as she swirled the dregs around three times with her left hand, and turned the cup upside down, keeping it there until the rest of the tea dripped out. She then turned the cup over and examined is contents.

"You have been busy, Mr. Riddle." Tom looked up to her face. "Pardon?"

"I believe that you have recently met your father. Not to mention a giant snake as well."

"Oh, yes." Tom looked up at her imploringly. He couldn't have her telling anyone of his heinous actions. "You wouldn't-"

"Oh no, Tom. I See. Others do not. That is how it is meant to be. That is how I keep it."

"Your secretary won't look at me. She knows."

Madame Trelawney smiled. "Apparently, I spoke in my sleep last week. Do not worry. It is a rare occurrence."

Tom breathed a sigh of relief. His secret was safe. It wasn't that he was ashamed of what he did. Far from it. But it wouldn't do him much good to become expelled from Hogwarts. And it certainly wouldn't be advantageous for him in the future if his potential followers found out that he was an outlaw. He would need their complete, absolute respect.

"Thank you. I was wondering if you could possibly-"

"Of course, Young One. I will tell you all that you need to know. I have been expecting you for quite some time now. I have Seen you." She tapped her temple with a long red nail. "I have Seen you, and yet I have not. I have Seen Tom Riddle, but I have also Seen Lord Voldemort."

Tom dropped his act of innocence and sat up straight in the beanbag, beaming, unable to contain himself any longer. "Ah, so I will be great. I never doubted it."

"Yes, Tom. People will fear to speak your name. Your followers will do your bidding without question."

Tom closed his eyes, imagining his glorious future. "I will be the greatest sorcerer in the world," he said contentedly.

The old woman shook her head. "No, Tom."

The boy's eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Not the greatest in the world. There will be one who may stop you. There will be one in possession of a power that is utterly foreign to you. He will be the only one with the ability to defeat you."

"Who is it?"

"Ah," replied the oracle. "One does not receive the Sight upon command. It is a gift. I know not the identity of your foe, only of his lineage."

Tom leaned forward apprehensively.

The woman continued. "Your adversary will be born to the flying stag and the flowering one who loves. More I cannot say."

Tom was speechless. He didn't voice his incredulity that his greatest enemy would be a hybrid of a deer with wings and a loving plant. But if this was what the famous soothsayer said, maybe there was some truth to it…

"Thank you very much," he said when he found his voice at last. "This has been very insightful." He threw a few sickles on the little table in front of her and rose to leave.

"Be cautious, Tom Riddle," the Seeress warned as the boy turned toward the beaded curtain. "You will be great. I have no doubt about that. But what you do with your greatness, that is your choice. I know of the future, but that does not mean that you have no chance or free will of your own. Remember that."

"Yes. Thank you. I will." And with that, the boy left.

A warm desert wind ruffled his hair as dust swirled around the soles of his worn sneakers. He squinted down the path ahead of him, adjusting to the darkness of the newly-fallen summer night.

He followed his feet as they trekked through the marketplace once more and tried to take in all that he had just learned. He would be great. He would have one enemy with the capability to defeat him. This enemy would possess a power that he would not. This enemy would be born in the future to…

That part was certainly a mystery. The flying stag and the flowering one who loves?

Tom paused for a moment beside a tilted palm tree and leaned against it, pondering. A large desert rat was scuffling near the tree's base as though trying to weave a hole inside. Tilting his head to the side with a strange smirk, he bent down and gingerly picked it up by the tail, dangling it in front of his face.

He let out a short bark at the feel of the rodent's constant squirming. There was something remarkably exhilarating about pinching a living creature between his index finger and thumb. The tail felt something like a thread of the Fates, and it was in Tom's complete power to cut it or loosen his grip. "I've really got you now, haven't I, little one?" he asked smoothly. The rat twitched strangely and relaxed in Tom's clutches, an odd red glint in its beady eyes.

Tom stared back as he thought about the day's events. First things first. He had to get back to the orphanage before the director sent police after him. Then he would work on his diary so that Salazar Slytherin's noble mission would one day be fulfilled. In the meantime, it was necessary to continue to learn and develop spells and curses of his own. He had made his bedroom at the orphanage untraceable, so he could practice magic there freely.

There was plenty of time in the future to figure out the riddle of his enemy's identity. The flying stag and the flowering one who loves would reveal themselves eventually. And when they did, he would be ready.

Tom bent down and placed the rat on the dusty earth. It stared back and slightly rose on its toes as though in salute. Then it turned around and like one on a mission, it hurriedly scampered away and vanished, heading in the elusive direction of the North Star.


	2. The Hogwarts Express

Author's Note: As of 4/16/05 this is a rewrite. I originally wrote this chapter nearly two years ago, and suffice it to say that my plans for this story, as well as my writing style, have overwhelmingly changed. I hope this one goes over well.

Aaaaaand, _Music of the Night_ has been nominated for the "Life Changing Drama" category of the Hourglass Awards. I am so unbelievably honored that what started out as a small, whimsical endeavor has attracted the notice of such amazing writers and that I am considered worthy enough to be competing against some of my favorite fics, all of which are brilliantly written. So thank you to all of you who have read this story and supported it. You guys make it all worthy it!

Disclaimer: See previous chapter. I forgot to add before that the title for this story is the name of a song from "Phantom of the Opera" by the brilliant Andrew Lloyd Webber.

Music of the Night 

Chapter 2: The Hogwarts Express 

The small droplet of water crashed into the surface of the window, momentarily obscuring the majestic London skyline. It slid down the smooth panel, leaving a narrow pathway of rain's wetness in its wake.

Lily Evans tore her eyes away from the window and sank back into the plush leather seat of her father's Buick and closed her eyes as the full, grand sound of a symphony played from the radio in the front seat. She absently fingered the heavy piece of metal in her skirt pocket, feeling its intricate grooves and polished rim, running her thumb around the outline of the letters "HG".

It was rather remarkable when she thought about it. Not that she was named Head Girl, because though Lily was far from conceited, she was honest enough to admit to herself that no other member of her graduating class would be nearly as qualified as she.

No, what was truly remarkable was that she had finally made it to her Seventh Year. Only six years ago she had been thrown into a magical world she hadn't known existed, and now she was the appointed leader of the entire student population, much of which was comprised of witches and wizards from magical ancestry that traced a far back as the Middle Ages, some even further.

She pulled the badge out of her pocket and held it up to the window. The rain was coming down a bit harder now and the shadows of the droplets cast a striped shadow onto the silver. _I suppose I should be somewhat proud of myself then, for whatever it's worth_.

She heard a sharp intake of breath to her right. Her sister Petunia was glaring at the badge through narrowed eyes, pursing her lips in intense disgust. Lily straightened her shoulders and pulled her head up in a proud stance, giving Petunia a clear warning signal that Lily Evans was not one to be trifled with.

Petunia's hawk-like eyebrows moved together in dislike, and then she turned her face away and looked out of the window alongside her.

It was just as well, Lily figured. She knew that Petunia would never even try to be supportive of her, let alone actually being genuinely encouraging. In general, Petunia ignored Lily at every possible opportunity, refusing to associate with her sister's "repellent abnormality," and whenever she did speak, it was with words of scathing insult. Such conversations, rare as they were, always ended abruptly when Lily would agilely tell Petunia off in lofty, verbose speech. After all, if Petunia really did think that she was such a freak, she might as well come across as a proud, obnoxious freak that Petunia would learn well enough to leave alone.

She had to smile slightly when she remembered the monologue she delivered only the week before when she had gotten her badge in the mail. Petunia had chosen a choice moment to attack, when Lily had been sitting down at the piano to play a joyful melody in victory. It had been one of Lily's finest speeches to date:

"Intellectually stimulating though you think you are, Petunia, I'm afraid that I will have to decline your offer for retaliation. That will only proceed to embarrass you even further, for two reasons. Number one, you are a good deal older than I and should certainly know better than to quarrel purposelessly with your brilliant sister. And number two, you should also be aware that the outcomes of any previous verbal disagreement between the two of us have always ended with my triumphant victory and your defeated mind, fruitlessly searching through your minute vocabulary for any insult that could possibly phase me. And so, Petunia, I advise you to stop this utter nonsense, for both of our sakes."

Just as she had predicted, Petunia's mouth had opened up and down wordlessly at a loss for anything to say. Lily had turned her head to look at the sheet music resting above the keys, but then folded it up and pounded out a symphony of pent-up frustration.

It was hard not to hate Petunia. In fact, it took every fiber of her being to restrain herself from cursing her sister into oblivion. _Seven more months_, she told herself, thinking about the moment that Petunia would be married off to her arrogant and pig-headed fiancé. Lily didn't particularly care for Vernon very much, but as he was whisking her sister away from her forever, she found herself eternally in his debt.

But in the meantime, Petunia wasn't worth getting angry over.

She knew it would probably be more challenging this year than it ever had been before to keep her explosive temper under control. Lily thankfully hadn't had an outburst in over a year, probably because she distanced herself from the cause of said outburst to all lengths possible. James Potter probably found her uptight and soulless, but it was better than spending three days in the Hospital Wind again.

She shoved the memory to the back of her mind and focused on happy thoughts as her father's melodious voice sang along with the Partridge Family cassette tape that was playing in the car. She had to smile in spite of herself. Such the intellectual her father was -- reading Machiavelli and Freud, giving college lectures on the rise and fall of fascism in Italy and the effects of the twelve Caesarian emperors on ancient Rome, and listening to the Partridge Family. Fine, let him have some fun.

The Buick arrived in front of King's Cross Station at exactly 10:43 and Mr. Evans wheeled along Lily's two trunks, one with her school supplies and clothing, and the other with a guitar, cello, and flute. Lily carried her owl, Athena, luckily not meeting as many curious eyes as she had previously seen on her past six trips on the Hogwarts Express.

When they reached the barrier, Lily took a big intake of air as she braced herself for the goodbyes. She absolutely hated goodbyes, not only because they signified separation from loved ones, but more importantly because Lily was forced to keep her eyes dry and impassive.

She made her farewells short and sweet, avoiding eye contact with either of her parents, and avoiding contact with Petunia all together. Her parents fussed over her a bit, her father tussling her dark red curls, and her mother reaching up to adjust her collar. Petunia stood awkwardly on the side, impatiently tapping her foot while scanning the crowded station for any other freaks with owls.

Lily released the hold she had on her mother and turned around before she would let her emotions take control of her. She pushed the trolley with her luggage in front of her, and began to sprint towards the barrier. After she felt a strange sense of being shrouded in a mass of thick and tangible air, she opened her eyes to see the gleaming red Hogwarts Express. She smiled, suddenly imbued with a sensation of hope and excited anticipation. This was it. Her last year at Hogwarts.

She began moving the cart forward with a jubilant step when she was abruptly stopped by a screechy squeal and an ambush of wild blond curls. The next thing she knew, she was practically being choked by a pair of tanned arms that were wrapped tightly around her slender neck. She coughed, wheezing.

"Thalia," she sputtered, gasping for breath. "Please let go."

Her best friend released her grip and looked Lily full in the face, her blue eyes twinkling. "Lily! I'm so excited to see you! How was your summer? Did you do anything exciting? Do you meet new people? What new instrument did you get? Is it hard? Congratulations on being Head Girl! I knew it would be you! What sort of responsibilities do you have? Do you know who the Head Boy is? I'll bet it's Remus Lupin. One of Sirius' best friends, you know. Have you seen Ted and Andromeda lately? She's so big! Oh, it's almost eleven! I'll take you to see them and we'll hop on the train in a jiffy. Oh, I'm so happy to see you!"

"I'm sorry, Thalia," Lily answered, rubbing the sore spot on her neck where Thalia had grabbed her. "I'm afraid that the lack of oxygen to my brain has rendered me absolutely incapable of processing more than a few words at a time. Ask me again later, slowly."

"Oh, of course," Thalia said, still bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet. "Come quickly to see Andromeda."

Thalia pulled Lily by the hand, which pulled her trolley after her, and they went over to a tall gangly man with curly blond hair frantically trying to keep his unruly toddler from darting out to the train tracks without arousing the irritation of his very pretty and very pregnant wife beside him.

"Hi – Dorey, stop that! – Hi, Lily," Ted managed to huff out from behind Nymphadora's flailing arms and legs.

Lily tried her utmost best not to laugh out loud as she answered, "I'm doing very well, thank you. Yourself?"

Nymphadora prompty tripped over her shoelaces and fell flat on her face. "Well, considering I'm running to the store every other minute for food and I'm the subject of not a few moody outbursts from _two_ young ladies, I'm in top shape." He scooped up his daughter and winked at his pregnant wife.

Lily smiled at her. "Andromeda! How are you doing?"

The woman sighed. "I'm fat, constantly hungry, and I can't sleep. Other than that, fine thank you."

Lily grinned as a young man with striking black hair came up behind Andromeda and planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

"Siwius!" Nymphadora leapt out of her father's arms and this time succeeded in skinning her knee before running at Sirius and clutching at his shin.

She never cries when she falls?" Lily murmured to Thalia out of the side of her mouth.

"Nah," she said casually. "I think she's used to it." Lily wordlessly raised an eyebrow upward before looking at her watch. "I have to get going. I'm expected in the Head's compartment."

"Yeah, I'll come too." Thalia quickly gave her brother and sister-in-law a big squeeze each and joined Sirius in entertaining Nymphadora briefly before she joined Lily.

The two girls brought their luggage to a compartment at the far end of the corridor and sat down, looking out of the window, as the great engine released a puff of gray smoke and began pulling the train out of the station. Lily watched the families on the platform waving good-bye to their loved ones. She felt not for the first time a slight twinge of envy when she remembered that her parents could never wave her off. She turned her head to look at her friend, who was probably thinking the same exact thing. Thalia was Muggle-born, just as she was.

When King's Cross Station was no longer in sight, and the train was already chugging through a pine forest, heading on a straight path, ignoring the trees that jumped out of its way, Lily looked at her watch.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Thalia. I have to leave for the Head Girl and Boy Compartment." Lily had exactly two minutes to get there. She might have always cut things rather close, but she was never late.

Thalia didn't seem to mind in the slightest. "Sure. I'll go sit with someone else for now."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Don't worry about me. Make rules. Take away points. Do your very best to uphold to the noble laws of the fine institution that we call school. Enjoy yourself."

As Lily left, she couldn't help but hope that whatever duties she had as Head Girl, they would entail a bit more than making the students' lives miserable.

She found her way into the Heads' Compartment at exactly 11:15, the designated time that Professor McGonagall had written on the letter that she had received that summer with her badge. She sat down in a seat next to the door and glanced at her watch again, disappointed that the Head Boy hadn't yet arrived, but resigning herself to the probability that not everyone was as compulsive as she, and that she should probably wait a few more minutes before getting too worried. In the meanwhile, Lily ran her long fingers though her damp curls and blinked absently as she felt herself fall into the depths of the rainstorm.

A further bit down the train, James Potter was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped firmly behind his back, as he wondered not for the first time how in hell he wound up with a Head Boy badge pinned to his chest.

Sirius, lounging in his typical fashion of simultaneous laziness and perpetual motion, seemed to find James's agitation highly entertaining. "Eh, it won't be so bad, Prongs. I mean, what's the most you'll have to do with Evans? Meet her once a week? And besides, it's not like she'll be on your back 24/7 yelling at you to act like an adult." He stretched out on the bench of the compartment. "I hereby give you permission to act as insanely as you want to."

"I'm glad I have your _approval_, Padfoot," James ground out.

Across the compartment, Peter Pettigrew laughed while Remus Lupin just tilted his head pensively to the side.

James checked his watch. "Ah, I've got to go then." Ignoring Sirius's chuckles and Peter's overly interested expression, he stepped out the compartment and closed the door behind him.

"Er, Prongs?" James whirled around to find Remus tentatively sticking his head out of the compartment. "I'll just be a minute."

James checked his watch quickly and ran a hand through his thick black hair. "Yeah, but it'll have to be a bit snappy." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Evans awaits me."

Remus stepped into the corridor and slid the compartment door behind him. "Yeah, about that…" He trailed off and averted his eyes. "I just wanted to tell you that I, er, I…Damn, this it hard."

James held up a hand. "Save it. It's okay."

Remus stepped forward. "No, it's not. I-"

"No." James shook his head. "Forget about it. Honestly." He ran two fingers through his hair and attempted a small grin. "I'll see you later."

Before Remus could protest again, James whirled around and marched defiantly down the corridor, chest out proudly. And the whole while he couldn't help but say to himself, _Broad shoulders do wonders_.

Lily glanced at her watch once again, now in slight frustration. Where in heaven's name was the Head Boy? And how on earth had someone so blatantly irresponsible acquired the position to begin with?

Her answer came when the compartment door slid open and James Potter ducked his head inside. He had grown even taller, Lily noticed.

"This is the Head Students' compartment, Mr. Potter," she said blandly with her arms crossed imposingly across her chest.

"Yeah," he said with his trademark smirk. "That's why I'm here."

Lily blinked. "Pardon?"

James tapped at a piece of metal on his chest. "Head Boy badge, Evans." He glanced up with raised brows, and for an instant, an indiscernible expression quickly fleeted across his face.

Lily frowned without speaking. Generally, this was because she was far too tactful to say what she was thinking or because she had better things to worry about than responding to one inane comment. But this time, she was genuinely at an utter loss for words.

An awkward silence ensued for a few seconds before James sat down opposite her and cocked his head to the side as though studying her. She cleared her throat loudly, and he turned to look out of the window.

Lily had always prided herself on her ability to read people (usually accurately), and after casting a few sideways glances in his direction, she concluded that James looked decidedly different. His posture had improved overwhelmingly, and his feet were planted even more firmly on the ground. It was as if he had taken every overtly arrogant aspect of his personality and magnified it tenfold. But somehow his face belied an inner secret of sorts, and the taut line of his upper lip did not hold the same indication of a smirk that it had in years before.

It had been that smirk that had fueled the ill feelings with which Lily had regarded James for six years. The smirk he had worn on his face with every poorly-timed prank he had pulled, with every Slytherin he had hexed, and with every conceited request that she go out with him.

But that wasn't the only reason Lily disliked James Potter. The real one was a bit painful for Lily to recall, but she found herself remembering that fateful June day of fifth year.

It had been right after the Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L., a particularly murderous exam that Lily had approached on a pure adrenaline rush, having had a mere three hours of sleep the night before since she had spent the wee hours of the morning solidifying all of the information for the test.

Perhaps it had been her lack of sleep that left her in an exceptionally testy mood, or maybe it was the scorching heat that often made tempers fly. But whatever the case, James Potter had made her lose control.

He had been, as per usual, tormenting a defenseless Slytherin, and as per usual, that Slytherin was Severus Snape. Lily had never particularly liked Snape, with his sketchy interest in the Dark Arts and his tendency to blurt out the word "Mudblood" during Prefect meetings when he disagreed with one of her more Muggle-minded ideas or philosophies. But a victim was a victim, and James Potter was not known for being gentle.

It hadn't helped that Potter had no qualms regarding the justifications of his actions, and it especially did not soothe Lily's irritability when he had inappropriately asked her out. But the worst part was that Lily was growing increasingly _angry_, angry at Potter for his behavior, angry at the crowd of teenagers that had been gathered around, and angry at herself for betraying emotion when she had worked five years to build up a wall of phlegmatic indifference.

Lily slightly remembered marching back off to the castle, as the ground underneath her felt as though it was trembling and the pounding in her head and chest escalated to the point of being unbearable before she blacked out. And then the next image swimming in front of her eyes had been the stonewashed ceiling of the Hospital Wing.

She shuddered slightly as she remembered that day. Yes, that was the day when she officially proclaimed herself a James-Potter-disliker. He had been one of the only people to ever make her lose control, which made him not only rude and conceited, but downright _dangerous_.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a low buzzing sound coming from the center of the compartment. Ever so faintly, what looked like a giant sphere was materializing before her, slowly revolving about itself; she noticed that it was encrusted with several giant rubies. It was mesmerizing.

The humming grew louder and harsher, like the sound of a staticky radio. Lily and James watched wide-eyed and awe-stricken as the metal began glowing with tiny sparks of gold. There was a great flash, and after Lily and James lowered the arms that they had instinctively thrown in front of their eyes to shield them, they saw a sight that made Lily scream.

Albus Dumbledore's head was floating in the middle of the compartment.

"Glad to see that I made such a fantastic impression, Miss Evans," said the headmaster, smiling innocently, as though it was perfectly natural to see a head suspended in midair.

Lily shut her mouth immediately. James said nothing, although behind his rimmed glasses, his eyes were chuckling amusedly.

"Well," continued Dumbledore. "Now that you're both here, I supposed it would be fitting to discuss with you the various responsibilities that you both will have this school year."

Lily produced a small notebook and pen from her jeans pocket, while James simply stared at the headmaster's head, apparently highly entertained.

"You have both been selected as Head Boy and Girl, not only because of your superior marks in class, but because of your superb leadership qualities. You are expected to set an example for all students. A positive example," he added, looking pointedly at James, "that all teachers and parents would approve of."

"There are certain duties which I am certain you are familiar with. Every night you are to patrol the corridors for any misdemeanors and the like. You are in charge of the master schedule determining which Prefects make their rounds and when.

"You will be notified of the passwords to each of the common rooms; any time there is a change of password, the prefects of the house of change will be responsible to tell you what the new password is. You are not to tell anyone else of these passwords. Aside from the Gryffindor words, you are not to use them other than in the case of an emergency. _Do not use them to your personal advantages._" Again, Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flickered over to James' direction.

"You have the authority to grant or take away house points wherever and whenever you see fit. You must enforce the rules of our school. If you see someone acting out of line, do not hesitate to take points. Even from your own house. Again, _do not use this authority to your personal advantages._

"You will be the student representatives of the school. You must be there to accept any complaints or suggestions from the other students. You will be their friends. You will be their mentors. You will help them and greet them with smiling faces. Understood?"

James and Lily each nodded in turn.

"Fabulous! Please send in the Prefects for a quick discussion. We will be meeting on a regular basis to discuss any circumstances that have come up. Thank you for your time."

And just as dazzlingly as he had appeared, Dumbledore's head emitted a blinding flash of light, and then it was gone.

Lily idly stared at the spot the Headmaster's image had occupied only moments before, when she saw James rise and stretch his arms up over his head.

"Hm," he said uninterestedly. "That was terribly fascinating." He dropped his arms and glanced behind him as he slid open the compartment door. "I'll be seeing you, then."

Lily waited until he left the room before she too rose and stretched her arms. She winced as they hit the ceiling. Glancing up, she noted that it should have been constructed at least a meter higher. She sighed, resigned to her monstrous height, and set off to find Thalia.

Lily honestly had no idea where Thalia could possibly be. It wasn't as though Thalia would only speak to her acquaintances; in fact, Lily sometimes reckoned that if Thalia were in a room with nothing but a Flobberworm and a bowl of fruit, she could chatter away for hours without realizing that her audience wasn't responding.

And so, Lily had to poke her head into literally every single compartment in order to find her friend. She almost wished that she hadn't when she walked in on two Fifth Years who were apparently…otherwise engaged, a group of Hufflepuffs _enjoying_ getting their eyebrows singed in an altogether too violent game of Exploding Snap, and a clan of Sixth and Seventh Year Slytherins who looked at her with disgusted loathing before she narrowed her eyes menacingly and marched out with her head held high. Thalia always told her that her "Scary-Evil-Devil Look" could frighten the Giant Squid out of the lake. And speaking of…

She finally found Thalia in a compartment currently inhabited by none other than the legendary Marauders, a group of what had to have been the biggest troublemakers Hogwarts had ever seen. No, scratch that. Remus Lupin was rather mild-mannered, and Peter Pettigrew never seemed to have anything moderately interesting to say. But James Potter and Sirius Black, the leaders of the little gang, more than made up for Remus and Peter's lack of mischief and then some. Lily didn't think very highly of the Marauders. She felt them to be loud, immature, and insensitive. But she was never mean to them, just as she was never mean to anyone else she didn't like. She might be sharp or snappish, but she was never heartless. She was always perfectly civil in every respect.

The Marauders tried her patience so much that she sometimes felt she would crack, but she managed to control herself mainly for Thalia's sake, rather than her own. Ever since Thalia's brother, Ted, had married one of Sirius' many cousins, Andromeda, the two had started talking to each other much more frequently and had even developed some sort of friendship, although Thalia did usually end up doing most of the talking, which was saying a lot, because it was common knowledge that Sirius Black absolutely loved to hear the sound of his own voice. Lily tried her best to get along with him, as it meant a lot to her best friend.

She actually liked Remus somewhat. He was more mature than the others, and didn't make quite the public spectacle of himself as his friends did. The one main fault that she found with Remus was that he always sat by and watched his friends wreak havoc without saying a word against it.

As for Peter, well, she didn't really know what exactly to think of Peter. He was never exactly mean himself, or exceptionally boisterous. In fact, Peter's one claim to fame was that he was a Marauder. Although why exactly he was a member of the infamous clan was an unsolved mystery to all. His sole purpose in life seemed to be to worship James, an individual whom Peter appeared to regard as infallibly perfect in every respect. Lily almost felt sorry for him. It must have been tough to live entirely in someone else's shadow.

And as for James Potter…He was a protean individual, ever changing and ever finding new and innovative ways to be unique and mischievous. He held the look of someone constantly in action, as though he would burst at any moment. Lily almost had to admire him sometimes for the maverick in him. But of course, there was that one incident that had never totally allowed itself to be buried deep in the most obscure recesses of Lily's brain. It was always there, just below the surface, ready to be surveyed once more.

She tried to shove the memory way into the back of her mind where she wouldn't have to think about it for quite a while, and forced a smile onto her face. "Thalia! Here you are! I found a compartment further down." She nodded curtly at each of the Marauders in turn, who looked highly amused.

"Oh, Lily. Don't be rude!" Thalia reproached her friend. "You remember Sirius, Remus, Peter, and James, right?"

Lily forced another her mouth into another smile and said, "They make themselves rather unforgettable."

Sirius got to his feet. "So, Lily," he said with a teasing look on his face. "Head Girl, huh? Planning to knock some sense into James, here?"

Lily glanced at James, who had just opened his mouth wide, yawning rather loudly. "Absolutely."

Sirius chuckled. "Good luck with that. Even old Remus here couldn't manage it." He leaned forward to her, putting an open hand next to his mouth as though he was telling a secret, but he obviously didn't mean to tell her anything private because his whisper was quite audible. "Just threaten to tell the Slytherins about his old teddy bear, Mooshy. It's worked for me on countless occasions."

"Thank you, Mr. Black, for your rather – interesting- advice, but I believe I will work alongside Mr. Potter without having to resort to blackmail."

Sirius appeared to be quite taken aback by this comment, which was precisely the effect Lily was aiming for.

Grabbing an astounded Thalia by the arm, she said short good-byes to each boy and left the compartment, walking more quickly than usual.

"You were very rude, you know," said Thalia, her short feet struggling to keep up with Lily's long strides. "You could have at least talked to them a little bit."

They entered an empty compartment, and Lily sat down, sighing. "Thalia, I love you like a sister. You know that. But there are certain things I just cannot do for you."

Thalia looked sly. "So this is about James Potter."

"Don't you dare look at me that way, Thalia Tonks! You know very well why I can't talk to James Potter."

Thalia frowned. "Yeah, yeah. He talks, you get mad, have some sort of unexplainable fit, and wake up in the Hospital Wing, then he drops you and goes about chasing the rest of the female population at Hogwarts. Got it."

"Thank you."

Thalia looked out the window at the rolling hills of the countryside.

Lily hated the silence. "So, tell me about your summer."

Thalia immediately launched into an overblown and over-exaggerated description of her adventures at summer camp, her encounters with the "gorgeous boy" down the block, and little odds and ends about the new music groups she had discovered, as well as her first attempt at baking a cake, which had ended rather disasterously.

And although Lily loved listening to Thalia's contagious laughter, she was more than a bit relieved when a plump woman knocked on the door and asked them if they'd like anything off the cart.

Just as she had ever since she discovered Licorice Wands, Lily immediately began pouring her silver onto the cart as soon as it pulled into the compartment.

"Not only do they taste absolutely delicious, they're so much fun to fool around with," is what she always said in regards to the candy.

To which Thalia would always reply, "And it's the one time when our mothers can't tell us not to play with our food."

Then they would giggle and begin waving wand after wand in the air, trying out the different spells on each one.

Lily was currently flourishing one about, and was dazzled when a bright pink tulip erupted from the tip.

She sighed contentedly. "I missed this so much."

"What?" Thalia managed to ask between bursts of laughter, as she had just hit herself with a Cheering Charm.

"This. The wizarding world. Hogwarts. You. Any time away from Petunia."

Thalia had managed to calm herself down enough to ask, "How's that going?"

And so, Lily then gave a short speech on the evils of lacy bridesmaids' dresses, the importance of having a neck in order to look somewhat decent, and the desperate need of everyone on the planet to beware a compulsive bride-to-be.

"Well, Lily," said Thalia smiling. "Welcome back."

Lily smiled.

She continued smiling until the train pulled into Hogsmeade Station and students began pouring out onto the platform, chattering excitedly and jumping on each other in energetic anticipation. Then the horseless carriages pulled up, and everyone buoyantly stepped aboard, oblivious to the natures of the rides they were about to take.

Lily didn't step onto her mode of transport quite as confidently. She couldn't see anything pulling the carriages, but she knew that there definitely were creatures attached to the reins. She had learned about them in fifth year. Thestrals. Lily shuddered at the word.

She had heard what they looked like. Great black winged horses with reptilian features. She had never even seen a picture, because whenever any author had ever tried to draw one, the image always appeared invisible to those that could not see the live beasts.

But she wasn't afraid of Thestrals themselves. She was just afraid of seeing one. Not because of it's appearance, but because of what seeing it would mean. More than anything else, Lily was afraid to witness death. Not death itself; she agreed with Dumbledore who always said, "Death is but the next great adventure." But she couldn't bear to think of someone actually dying. To have one's very life, very existence, slowly ebbing away, to a place where it would become irretrievable. It meant ending everything that one started, but never finished. Never being able to say the words that were unsaid. And to witness that, to actually see someone going through that, was much more than Lily could handle.

But, as she couldn't see the Thestrals, and as they were the only means of transportation to the castle other than by boat with Hagrid (She got seasick very easily and wasn't at all in the mood to vomit over her dinner), she got into a carriage with Thalia.

At the sound of a whistle, the Thestrals began to move. The Hogwarts students left Hogsmeade Station behind, and unbeknownst to them, the last inkling of normalcy they were to ever encounter again stuck plastered to the Hogwarts Express like a permanent coating of paint that could never be removed and could never be replaced.


	3. An Ominous Welcome

Music of the Night

**Chapter 3: An Ominous Welcome**

            The wind began to howl as the carriages were pulled along the knotty road to Hogwarts, causing Lily to nearly wretch from nausea.  Thalia attempted to make conversation at least twice, but upon seeing the green face of her friend, she shut her mouth and promptly Summoned a paper bag for Lily to hold under her mouth.

Lily somehow miraculously made it to the Hogwarts grounds still in possession of the contents of her stomach.  Thalia slid open the door and was immediately jerked to the side of the coach by an enormous gust of wind.  She grabbed the edge of the doorway and pulled herself out of it, reaching in to grab Lily's hand.

            Thalia gave an almighty tug, and a queasy Lily fell out onto the grass.  She strained against the violent gusts to rise.  They, along with everyone else who had come by carriage rather than by boat, struggled arduously across the grounds.  

            Lily, however, didn't notice anyone else around her as her mind was fully occupied at the moment. She had one hand tightly grasped on her heavy cloak, struggling against the torrents of the wind to keep it on her, and the other trying to wave her wild red curls out of her face.  It was a miracle that she was even able to make it into the castle at all since throughout the entire trek her vision had been blocked by a mass of hair.

            She stumbled through the large front doors and into the entrance hall where a handful of disheveled students of all ages were already waiting.  She tried not to think that she could possibly be in a similar, or possibly even worse state than those before her.  She stood for a few moments shivering silently before Thalia made her way toward her.

            Lily stared at Thalia.  Thalia stared back.  Then they both burst out laughing.  "Please tell me that I don't look like you," Lily implored.

            "Why?  What do I look like?"

            "A yellow mop with blue eyes."

            Thalia laughed.  "Well, in that case, no, you don't look like me.

            Lily breathed a small sigh of relief.  "Thank goodness."

            "Because," Thalia continued, "you look like the Thing."

            "The Thing?"  Lily felt a Thalia-speech coming on.

            "Yes."  Thalia leaned in, suddenly speaking in dark, spooky tones.  "The Thing is a terrible monster who hides underneath young children's beds at night, waiting for their unsuspecting parents to leave the bedroom after they have once again brought a drink of water to their children.  It then emerges, slowly, so as not to alarm its prey.  It rises itself up, raising it's shaggy arms in the air and yells-"

            But Thalia never got to finish her story (which, by the way, Lily knew was based entirely on a nightmare her friend had had as a six-year-old) because Professor McGonagall shouted for silence at the front of the Hall. 

            The room grew quiet immediately.

            "Now that I have all of your undivided attention-" she said, pausing for a moment to stare at Sirius Black who was pretending to still be in the windstorm, blowing himself back and forth, teetering on his toes.  He noticed the entire room staring at him, stopped, and gave a huge smile at the professor, showing off all of his sparkling white teeth.

            Professor McGonagall made no notice of this performance other than the fact that it had stopped, and she continued.  "You will shortly make your way into the Great Hall.  You will patiently watch the Sorting Ceremony and then we will commence with the feast.  

            "Due to weather conditions, I see that any attempts that any of you had made on the train to make yourselves decently presentable have now been completely ruined.  Please take the time now to become fairly respectable-looking before going inside."

            There was a scramble as everyone tried to dig up the words to Neatness charms from deep within their sun-fried brains.  Lily, who had an uncanny knack for Charms cleaned up Thalia and herself in no time, and walked around the room, fulfilling her duties as Head Girl and helping the younger students to tidy themselves up.

            She passed by the Marauders who were laughing as Sirius vainly fired Smoothness Charms at James's head, only to have the hair lie flat for a moment and then spring up again.  They were all finding this extremely funny, including Sirius, who tried the charm again, giving Lily the most likely correct assumption that Sirius had known from the very beginning the charm would have no effect whatsoever on James's hair.

            James turned his head, caught Lily watching, and winked.  Lily did not smile, but gave a small nod and waved her hand before turning around and rolling her eyes thinking, _And this is the new Head Boy.  Lovely._

            A few minutes of tidying later, and everyone made their way into the Great Hall and seated themselves at the appropriate House tables, stomachs growling and anticipations peaking.

            But as anxious as the older students were for the Sorting to begin, they were nothing compared to the long line of apprehensive-looking first-years that Professor McGonagall was leading to the front of the room.  One girl was unconsciously chewing the end of her long blond plait while a gangly flame-haired boy kept glancing up at the ceiling and twitching.

            Lily's heart went out to them.  She remembered when she had been standing on the same line as the row of children in front of her.  She had been petrified.  She had just taken a train from a platform she hadn't known existed, had ridden a rickety boat on a lake, which was rumored to have housed a giant squid, and had then been hurried along into a room in which it appeared to be raining, while hundreds of black-robed students peered down at her as she placed a worn hat on her head.

            It had appeared to her that she was the only one this terrified.  It seemed as though all of the other first-years had known about Hogwarts before they could even speak.  She didn't know what she was doing there.  What if she really wasn't magical at all?

            Then Professor McGonagall had called her name.  She felt her feet moving toward the stool with the hat.  She had been unaware of even placing it on her head; all that she had been focused on was the surprising sound of a small voice in her ear.

_            "Hmm.  Let's see… Oh, you've got a mind.  And what a mind!  But much more than a mind…hmmm….Oh, masses of talent, yes, yes, Ravenclaw might just suit you perfectly….but what's that I see?  Some conscience you've got there, an uncanny sense of right and wrong, no not Slytherin…hmmm, oh, with that ability to stay calm even in the most dire situations…I suppose that would take a great deal of bravery, would it not?   And with your capacity to love, you will accomplish wonders.  Yes… All right then, better be…_

_            "GRYFFINDOR!"_

The last word had been called out to the entire great hall.  The young Lily had opened her eyes in relief.  The Great Hall had at once become more inviting, more cheery, and far less intimidating.

            Snapped back to the present by the sound of the Sorting Hat's rather throaty singing voice, Lily listened as Professor McGonagall informed the first-years of the Sorting process.  Many of them became noticeably more relaxed.  

            Professor McGonagall checked the list of parchment she was holding in her hand and called out to the crowd,

            "Acker, Janet!"

            The line of first-years seemed to dwindle even more slowly than usual.  Perhaps it was the gloomy ceiling, which had just begun to show the beginnings of a thunderstorm, or perhaps it was the grumbles of the stomachs of every person in the room growing increasingly louder.  Whatever the case, when 'York, Pauline' was finally seated at the Hufflepuff table, the great sigh of relief that washed over the entire student population was highly audible, and even louder was the cheer when Dumbledore rose and announced, "Begin!"

            Lily modestly spooned some stew onto her plate and barely had time to chew her first bite when Thalia's tongue went off on a rampage once again.  Somehow, her friend always managed to chatter, eat, drink, and make wildly flamboyant gestures with her hands all at the same time.  Lily often let the sound of Thalia's voice float in one ear and out the other, and just watched her as she spoke.  She found it to be quite entertaining.

            Now, however, was not one of those times.  Tempted though she was to take in her surroundings and enjoy her long-awaited dinner, Lily reminded herself that this was the first real conversation she'd had with Thalia since the previous June.  She had tried to make several telephone calls to her over the course of the summer, but somehow Petunia had always "innocently" unplugged the phone before saying, "Oh, were you using that?"

            Lily idly twirled her fork around in her meat as her friend babbled on.  "So then I said, 'No Mum.  I cannot use a Repelling Charm to make the salesmen stay away.  We'd never get any visitors at all.' "

            Lily nodded.

            Thalia, seeing a clear response that either her friend was listening or pretending to so that she could think to herself, continued, knowing that even if Lily wasn't listening, she had the courtesy to appear attentive so that passersby wouldn't witness the one-ended conversation and scoff at the girl who talked to herself.

            "So, naturally, she was a bit upset, but she understood when I said that even though I was old enough to do magic outside of school, that didn't mean that I could use it for things like keeping people away.  It wasn't necessary.  And just plain rude.  You'd be proud of me there, Lily.  Then she got all blubbery about how much I'd grown, that I don't chatter nearly as much as I used to, yadda, yadda, yadda, and the point is, she was so impressed by my _nobility _that she bought me two new wigs!"

            At this, Lily, who in fact had been listening, snorted into her stew.  "Thalia, what on earth do you need more wigs for?  Don't you think your collection is large enough?"

            Thalia waved her hand as though she was shoving this concept aside into the large pile of discarded sensibility that had built up over the years.  "You can never have too many wigs.  That's what I always say."

            "But you know very well that you can just magically change your hair.  Why the wigs?"

            Thalia clapped a hand to her open mouth in fake shock.  "How dare you suggest such a thing?  Be like everyone else and lose my sense of individuality?  My image of uniqueness?  My entire _me-ness?_"

            Lily cracked a grin.

            "Oh," said Thalia.  "And because I don't have the patience to learn all of the charms and I don't suppose you'd want to do them for me every time I want to change my hair."

            Lily nodded in a business-like fashion.  "Fair assumption."

            The conversation was interrupted by a loud blast of laughter from the other end of the table.  Apparently, James had just said something that Sirius had found somewhat humorous.

            Thalia nudged Lily.  "This is the year we do it."

            Lily raised her left eyebrow, an odd habit she had that revealed itself when she was either surprised or skeptical, giving her a rather alarming expression.  "What?"

            Thalia's eyes sparkled as they often did when she was excited.  "We're going to find out the secret of the Marauders."

            "What 'secret of the Marauders', might I ask?"

            "Oh, Lily," Thalia said exasperatedly.  "For someone who's so smart, you haven't noticed?  Remus is always sick, and whenever he is, the other three look more tired than usual.  And they somehow manage to do all of their pranks without getting caught- well most of the time, they don't get caught- and James is now the Head Boy when he wasn't even a Prefect!  How can you explain that?"

            Lily shook her head.  "Of course I've noticed.  I've wondered, this is true.  But that does not by any means make me want to find out the reasons for their mysterious absences, or their uncanny abilities to worm their way out of detentions.  The strange doings of our fellow Gryffindors have nothing to do with me, peculiar though they may be."

            Thalia frowned.  "Alright.  I can take a hint.  None of my business. Got it."

            Lily looked shrewd for a moment.  "And if you don't mind me asking, why is it that you have this sudden interest in the escapades of the mischievous foursome?  We wouldn't happen to fancy one of them, would we?"

            Thalia looked horrified.  "Of course not!  That's disgusting!  Sirius is my _cousin!_"

            Lily laughed.  "Who said anything about Sirius?"

            Thalia, now seeming to realize for the first time that Lily hadn't really been serious, laughed as well.  "Oh, please.  James wouldn't be able to control me.  He's worse than I am!  I'd probably be running amok in the Forbidden Forest chasing poodles yelling 'God save the queen!'  And he'd most likely be behind me, pelting me with twigs.  Remus would be scared away.  It's enough he has to deal with those two.  And Peter-" She paused and glanced down the table to where the round-faced boy was watching James wide-eyed, not noticing the pumpkin juice that was dribbling from his open mouth down past his chin.  "Well, enough said."

            Lily's gaze remained fixated on Peter Pettigrew for a few moments longer.  There was something about that boy that she couldn't understand.  He wasn't particularly witty, funny, nor mischievous.  He wasn't malicious, but he didn't stand out as being exceptionally amiable either.  All he ever seemed to do was gape fascinated at his three friends, and all he ever seemed to say were words of praise of their fantastic pranks.  He didn't seem to have any substance of his own.  He was like a robot, programmed to worship, admire, and dote over his three friends' every action, word, or gesture.  Lily truly felt sorry for him.  She didn't think he minded being the follower, but she genuinely pitied him for his lack of personality and any sense of individuality.

            Thalia opened her mouth once again to speak, but before she could say anything (much to Lily's relief), a loud hush fell over the room as the headmaster rose from his chair.

            Lily still felt awestricken every time she heard Professor Dumbledore speak.  His very voice sent shivers running up her spine.  Every tone of his soothing voice assumed authority.  But it wasn't demanding it.  Dumbledore spoke in such a way that let everyone know of his power, not because he wanted them to know it, but just because they figured it out on their own.  His face radiated wisdom and seethed brilliance.  When he stared at her with those omniscient eyes, she felt utterly vulnerable.  She had to tell him the utmost truth, because if she didn't he would know, and she would be incredibly guilt-ridden every time she laid eyes on him after that.

            She surveyed the others in the room.  There were those few students who were genuinely attentive, among the many others who looked as though they would have rathered that Dumbledore just forget his speech and leave them to their meal.  No one else seemed as mesmerized by the powerful wizard as she was.  Then again, she realized, few people were as observant as she.

            Dumbledore raised a hand and the low hum of the students who were trying to finish their conversations was immediately silenced.

            "A new year," he began, his voice tired.  "A time to accept the past and embrace the future.  A time to remember the atrocities of recent events, but also a time to live."

            Dumbledore was, of course, talking about the latest attacks of Voldemort's Death Eaters, violent outbursts that had occurred all summer long leaving a dreadfully extensive casualty list, comprised of the names of both wizarding folk and muggles.

            "We are living in dark times," continued the headmaster.  "We must be careful; we must be alert.  But we must live.  It may be tempting to lose faith and the desire to keep going.  We might feel that we have nothing left to live for, and that all goodness in the world is gone forever.  

"But we must not let these feelings conquer us.  We must not give in.  We must not fail to realize that by giving up hope, we are accepting defeat and surrendering to those who wish to break us."

            He paused.  Every eye was glued to his aged face.  Many of the students were dumbfounded.  Whenever Dumbledore had gotten up to speak in front of the school it had always been a cheerful atmosphere, never with talk of death and destruction.  James noticed Sirius shifting uncomfortably in his seat.  Of course, with all of the relatives Sirius had, it would be crazy for him not to be even the slightest bit uneasy when it came to talk of Death Eaters.

            Dumbledore spoke again.  "It is when these situations arise that the students of Hogwarts School must be aware of the crucial necessity of all to hope and to live together.  We must join as one.  House competition or petty rivalries are of little importance now.  The world is too dangerous and too fearsome a place to venture alone.  Separate we may be conquered.  Only united may we be victorious."  He glanced at each of the house tables in turn in what Lily thought to be a silent plea for the enmity between houses to come to an end.

            The somber silence was painfully chilling.  Every last person in the room was digesting what the headmaster had just spoken to them, some taking the words to heart, making eye contact with acquaintances from other houses, others simply snickering as though the thought of a disunited Hogwarts was exactly what they needed.

            Dumbledore stared back at the students, giving individuals the impression that he was staring directly at them.  His serious face suddenly broke into a smile and he clapped his hands together cheerfully as though the foreboding speech he had just delivered had taken place weeks before.  Lily did notice, however, that the solemn shadow of one who has seen much too much pain and suffering was still present in his eyes.

            "Well then!  Now that that's out of the way, I feel it is my duty to remind you of the basic school rules with which you should all be somewhat familiar.  The Forbidden Forest is out of bounds.  In the event that anyone forgets that restriction, I beg him or her to simply recall the name given to the wood.  It is _forbidden._"

            James attempted to suppress a grin as Dumbledore's eyes slid over to his direction for a split second before continuing.  "Mr. Filch has once again expanded the list of items prohibited from the corridors.  Anyone found in possession of such belongings faces depletion of house points and/or a detention.  To see the full list of banned products, please refer to the growing list on the door to Mr. Filch's office.

            "And now, without further ado, let us conclude this feast with the singing of our school song."  And as Dumbledore fired a thread of silk into the air to form the song's lyrics, it was obvious to all that the usual mixture of bouncy, solemn, and melodious tunes was far less enthusiastic than it had been in previous years.

            As soon as the last singers finished up (the Marauders had decided to turn the song into a round, meaning that they sang the entire thing through four times), the Great Hall once more erupted into the sounds of dozens of conversations which slowly made their way out into the Entrance Hall and down the corridors to four different house Common Rooms.

            Lily was cornered by Professor McGonagall, who slipped her a piece of parchment bearing the four house passwords, which she memorized before wiping it clean.  James, who evidently had received a similar parchment, was already talking to the Prefects of Gryffindor and Hufflepuff.  Lily found a Ravenclaw and Slytherin, each wearing a Prefect badge, wearily told them each their new password (separately of course), turned around, and trudged up flights of stairs and down long corridors before entering the Gryffindor Common Room, proceeding straight to the spiral staircase at the other end of the room and plodded up to her dormitory, leaving the new Prefects to deal with the first-years.

            She lazily changed into her sweats and collapsed onto her bed.  She was too tired to listen when Thalia, Karen, and Hannah entered the dorm, chatting excitedly about their summers.  She was too exhausted to worry about the N.E.W.T.s that she would be taking at the end of the year.  She was too drained to think about her new Head Girl duties.  And yet, somehow she couldn't get Dumbledore's ominous welcome out of her mind.  

            She rolled over, trying to think happy thoughts, when she slowly felt herself drifting off, the image of the headmaster still fresh in her memory…

            _It was a sweltering June afternoon, three days after her eleventh birthday.  Lily was sitting lazily under the giant oak tree in the yard, reading a novel.  Her parents were swinging on the loveseat on the patio, sipping lemonade.  Petunia was across the lawn on a blanket lying on her back, her head supported by her hands._

_            Everything seemed so incredibly normal.  Too normal, in Lily's opinion.  It was strange.  At times like these, Lily felt like every other eleven-year-old girl.  And yet, things sometimes seemed to happen whenever her anger got the better of her, highly dangerous and unusual things to say the least…_

_            Her thoughts were interrupted by a large yellowed envelope that had fallen directly onto page 176.  She looked up, wondering from a piece of parchment could have possibly dropped.  She noticed a large tawny owl soaring away into the cloudless blue sky._

_            An owl?  Here?  During the daytime?  And the letter… Lily dismissed the ridiculous thought that had come to her mind.  The owl couldn't possibly have been carrying the letter.  A bird delivering mail?  Of all the outlandish things…._

_            She turned the envelope over and read the writing on the front of it.  It was addressed to _her._  She ran her fingers over the glittering green ink._

_            She tentatively broke the seal on the envelope, which bore a crest of a badger, eagle, snake, and lion around a large letter H.  She pulled out a piece of parchment from within the envelope.  She read,_

HOGWARTS SCHOOL

OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmaster:  Albus Dumbledore

_(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, _

_Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)_

Dear Ms. Evans,

            We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.  Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

            Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress 

            Lily frowned, skepticism etched in the small crease between her brows.  Was this some kind of joke?  She glanced at her sister who was examining her manicured nails in the sunlight.  Petunia would never be clever enough, or creative enough to concoct a prank such as this.  

_            Maybe it was someone from school.  But no, no one she could think would ever have the brass to do something like this._

_            But then, what if it was real?  Were there really such things as witches and wizards?  Is that why she was sure had seen her cereal bowl hovering a few inches off of her placemat only that morning?  Is that why Petunia's nails suddenly broke when she had been yelling at Lily last month?  Is that why she felt the ground trembling beneath her whenever she became uncharacteristically angry?_

_            She stood up awkwardly (that seemed to be how she did everything these days; she had absolutely no idea what to do with her overgrown appendages) and walked over to where to her parents were busily chatting._

_            "What is it, Lily?" her mother asked her with a hint of concern upon seeing her daughter's furrowed brow._

_            Lily wordlessly handed her the letter and watched as her parents read it.  They exchanged a look that Lily wasn't able to interpret._

_            Her father turned to her and his face burst into a huge smile.  "We knew this day would come soon!  Come here, you!"  He enveloped a puzzled Lily in a tight embrace.  When he let go, Lily looked at him, an expression of confusion on her face.  Her mother, apparently, didn't notice, because she too wrapped her arms around her daughter and eyes shining, exclaimed, "Congratulations, sweetheart!"_

_            Petunia suddenly appeared next to the swing, looking every bit as perplexed as Lily felt.  "What's going on?" she asked, although Lily thought it sounded as though her sister wasn't asking because she genuinely cared, rather because she refused to be in the same vicinity as a breaking story without knowledge of it._

_            Still beaming at Lily, Mr. Evans handed the parchment to Petunia, who took it curiously.  Lily watched her sister's face as she read the letter.  Petunia first looked inquisitive, then her eyebrows widened with surprise.  When she looked up, she was sporting a rather sarcastic grin.  "What is this, some sort of joke?"_

_            Lily breathed a small sigh of relief.  Ironic though it was that it was Petunia who agreed with her, at least someone else shared her disbelief._

_            Her father grinned.  "Nope."_

_            Petunia snorted.  "Come off it, Dad."_

_            "I'm not joking."_

_            Both sisters gaped at their father, who went on talking as though their conversation wasn't the slightest bit out of the ordinary.  "We figured you'd get the letter when you were around the age of eleven.  We'll have to get you your school supplies, of course.  I'm deliciously curious to see the magical shops.  You'll like Dumbledore, Lily.  He's without a doubt the most brilliant man I've ever met.  A bit eccentric to be sure, but a genius nonetheless.  It was he who suggested that we start you with piano lessons, Lily."_

_            Lily tried to process this.  "I'm a witch, I'm going to a school for magic, and this is related to my piano lessons?"_

_            Her mother smiled even wider, clearly amused.  "That's right."_

_            Petunia, however, did not seem to find this whole occurrence the least bit humorous.  "What kind of joke is this?" she demanded, her usually pale cheeks coloring slightly._

_            Mrs. Evans's smile wavered a bit as she answered.  "This isn't a joke, Petunia.  Lily is a witch."_

_            Petunia's nostrils began to flair, her head bobbing up and down on her long neck.  She stepped back from her sister and pointed an accusatory finger.  "Are you meaning to tell me," she bellowed at her parents, her eyes never leaving Lily's face, "that I have lived all of my life in the same house as a WITCH?"_

_            Her parents exchanged nervous glances.  Lily could tell that they had expected this sort of thing to happen.  "Yes, dear," her father answered in a steady voice. _

_            Petunia's eyes blazed.  "You freak!  You abnormal, weird, freak!  I always knew there was something wrong with you!  Something strange, something weird!  You freak!"  She shoved the letter back into her father's hand and stormed into the house, leaving Lily marveling at how limited her sister's vocabulary actually was._

_            Her mother sighed.  "We rather expected her to react this way.  Don't worry, Lily.  She'll get used to the idea, and she'll be just as pleased as we are."_

_            Lily gave a small smile, highly doubting that Petunia would ever accept her, but showing nothing, not wanting her parents to become upset._

_            "So," she said slowly, trying to continue the conversation as though that unfortunate outburst had never occurred.  "What is this school?  Who is-" She referred to the letter in her father's grasp- "Albus Dumbledore?"_

_            "He is to be your new headmaster, Lily," her mother answered.  "I know that doesn't seem like a lot of information, but we really don't know all that much.  Usually, magical children born to non-wizarding families don't even know about their abilities until they receive a letter like this one.  Their families don't know either.  Your case is different, though.  We're not the best people to explain it, Lily.  You are to go see Dumbledore on your first day of classes so that he can explain everything to you properly."  _

_            And that's just what Lily did.  On her first day of school, she had just made friends with a girl named Thalia Tonks, who was shocked at hearing that Lily had to go speak with the headmaster._

_            "Do you know who he IS?  He's the best wizard in the whole WORLD!"_

_            Lily was thoughtful for a moment and then responded, "Then I suppose that whatever he has to say to me is extremely important and it is imperative that I go."_

_            Thalia looked positively horrified at this suggestion and began biting her nails as Lily walked up to Professor McGonagall's desk at the end of their first lesson to ask for directions to Dumbledore's office.  She seemed surprised as well, but showed Lily nonetheless, no questions asked.  Like Lily, she obviously felt that if Dumbledore had requested to speak with her, it was clearly very important._

_            Lily wasn't all that nervous to speak to Dumbledore.  She had never minded speaking to adults.  In fact, sometimes she liked conversing with them more than with those her own age.  There was so much wisdom to be learned from those with more experience, she always felt._

_            The only thing she was nervous for was the conversation she was to have with the headmaster.  She now learned that the name for non-magical people was "muggles."  At first she supposed that Dumbledore just wanted to discuss with her the basics of the magical world, so that she didn't feel so lost.  But she had asked Thalia, a muggle-born, whether Dumbledore had asked to speak with her, and he hadn't.  In fact, most muggle-borns' families hadn't even known that a magical world existed.  Why then, had her parents known for years?  Was there something special about her?  Was she_ abnormal?_  Was Petunia right?_

_            She twisted her hands nervously in her robes as Professor McGonagall led her to a statue of a hideous stone gargoyle and said very clearly, _"Licorice Wands!"_  Evidently, it was a password, very much like the one she had used to enter Gryffindor tower the previous night, because it slid to the side, revealing a high spiral staircase._

_            Lily thanked Professor McGonagall and stepped onto the first stair.  Before she knew what was happening, she was being raised up.  This caught her quite unawares.  She was sure that this was considered perfectly normal in the magical world, but as she had just made contact with other wizards and witches for the first time the day before, she was still very unprepared for things such as moving staircases._

_            When she reached the platform at the top of the staircase she held up her hand to knock on the grand door, but paused when she heard voices inside.  She didn't want to interrupt the meeting._

_            A voice she didn't recognize was criticizing someone.  "He's a nightmare!  Whenever he's at home, I never dare go there.  The entire house shakes from his mother's screaming.  And she isn't screaming for no reason, mind you.  Do you know that just before he got on the train he said that as soon as his parents "kick the bucket" –those were his exact words, I'll have you know- he would destroy every single item in the house bearing the family crest?  _

_            "He'll tear up your school, leaving you with nothing but ruins, you mark my words.  It pains me to have to say this of my own flesh and blood, but you're best off expelling him right now, Headmaster, before he does anything we all regret!"_

_            "I assure you, Phineas," said Dumbledore, slight amusement in his voice, "that if Mr. Black makes any threats to take over the castle should I "snuff it," as he would say, I'll see to it that you're the first to know."_

_            "But Headmaster-"_

_            "I am sorry, Phineas.  I'm afraid this will have to wait until later.  I sense that there is someone waiting just outside my door for a word with me."_

_            Before Lily had a chance to back up so that it didn't appear as though she was eavesdropping, the door swung open._

_            "Ah, Miss Evans," said Albus Dumbledore from behind a majestic-looking desk.  "I've been expecting you.  "Please."  He waved his hand.  "Come in."_

_            Lily nervously walked over to the cushiony armchair Dumbledore had just Conjured and sat down, hands folded neatly in her lap, trying with all her might not to show the apprehension that was presently causing her stomach to churn tumultuously.  She glanced around, taking in her surroundings.  Every inch of surface space was covered in interesting instruments, some of which buzzed and flashed different colors.  There was a large cabinet containing what looked like a large stone bowl.  Perched on a shelf was the most unusual bird Lily had ever seen.  Moving portraits (when would she ever get used to those?) were hung on the circular walls in rows, reaching high up to the swirling ceiling.  But the thing that Lily noticed most of all was the absence of any other person besides the headmaster and herself.  Whom had Dumbledore been talking with?_

_            "Thank you, Professor," she said, her voice remarkably steady.  "I am here because my parents said that you had something to discuss with me."_

_            Dumbledore stared at her with those legendary blue eyes.  Lily felt for the first time, but not the last, that he was reading into her very soul._

_            "Yes, Ms. Evans.  I do wish to speak with you.  However, before I begin to answer your abundant questions, I must first give you a bit of an introduction._

_            Lily sat back in her chair, and listened intently as the headmaster began._

_            "There are several different types of people.  There are those who wish they were more, those who are happy with their lot in life, and those who feel superior to others because of their numerous blessings.  Similarly, there are different types of wizards.  _

_"Magical ability varies.  Just as each person has his or her own strengths and weaknesses, each wizard or witch has his or her own special magical talents.  Some, as is with everything, have more than others.  Many watch jealously, wanting, yearning for the gifts that they do not have.  They will very often go to any measures to get want they desire, no matter how heinous the cost.  Some might not try to do something about their lack of talent, but simply give up and accept that they are doomed to failure.  And some, unhampered by their apparent deficiency in the magical arts strive to better themselves, convinced that if they work hard, they will accomplish._

_ "The second type of wizard is the one who has more magical talent than others, knows it, and flaunts it.  He is so blinded by his own conceit that he doesn't recognize others for who they are inside, instead of by their spells and incantations.  He feels that because he is more gifted, or comes from a long line of wizards, that he is above the less talented and the muggle-borns.  He pays attention only to others' faults, and not to their gifts._

_"Then there are those that are happy with what they have.  They don't feel lacking, nor do they feel self-important.  According to them, they have just enough.  They are aware that they have more than others, but they do not feel that they are in any way more special because of it.  They recognize that as is natural, someone will always have more, and someone will always have less.  They feel fortunate to have more than some, but accept that there are those who are more fortunate than they.  It is possible that they perhaps do have more magical talent than most, but they do not let this cloud their judgment, and they see people for who they really are._

_"Your gift, Lily, is an exceptional one."_

_Lily was taken by surprise.  "Me?" she meekly asked._

_"Yes, Lily.  Perhaps you have already discovered it."_

_She didn't understand.  She had talked with several muggle-born wizards and witches that she had met both on the train and during her first day of classes.  They had all had similar pre-Hogwarts magical experiences.  In times of anger, some had made things explode, others caused things to break.  Lily had done such feats, although no one else she had asked had ever felt the ground tremble beneath their feet.  No one else had felt a flame boil up inside of them, waiting to burst.  _But then again, _Lily reasoned.  _I get very angry.__

_"I'm sorry, Professor.  I'm afraid I don't know what you are talking about."_

_"Ms. Evans," explained Dumbledore.  "The human heart is a very complicated thing.  The spectrum of emotion is so wide and diverse; most cannot sense even a fraction of the multifarious sentiments in an entire lifetime._

_"You, however, are different."_

_Lily felt her emerald eyes widen.  "How so, Professor?" she asked, her voice very soft._

_"You have a gift.  You are what we wizarding folk call a Cormagnus."_

_Lily was even tenser than she had been before.  Did she have some sort of disease?  Her breathing suddenly felt very jagged.  "I'm a what?"_

_"A Cormagnus.  You, Lily, have a gift.  It is your heart."_

_Lily relaxed considerably, knowing that whatever it was that she had, it didn't make her inhuman.  But while she felt a bit more at ease, she was even more confused.  "A heart?"_

_"Many wizards and witches have outbursts of accidental magic when their emotions are running very high.  Cormagni, who are very rare, have emotions that are larger, more extreme.  As a result, the accidental magic that can erupt can be magnanimous, even potentially dangerous."_

_Lily's face fell.  This is what Dumbedore had to tell her?  That she could get so angry that she would be a hazard to society?_

_"But," continued Dumbledore, obviously sensing Lily's plunge in confidence, "that isn't necessarily a bad thing."_

_How could this possibly not be a bad thing?_

_"With your increased sensitivity to your own emotions comes an increased sensitivity to the emotions of others.  The troubles of others affect you deeply, much more than they would an average person.  But you can also understand others' pain and help guide them out of it.  _

_"I know it seems like a big responsibility, and it is, but I am not telling you that you have to accept that burden.  If you wish to be like the first type of wizard and wallow in disgust at your unique difference, you have the right to do so.  If you have the desire to superciliously look down upon those who do not possess your gift, who do not have so firm a grasp of the confusing twists of human nature, again, it is your prerogative to do so._

_"However, you may also choose to be the third witch.  You may acknowledge and accept this gift along with its responsibilities, and with the full knowledge that in a certain respect, you are much more well-informed than most of the wizarding and muggle worlds.  And you may cultivate this knowledge, allowing you to help and guide others, to empathize and sympathize when no one else can.  You can turn away from your gift, gloat about it, or use it to do good.  It is up to you.  I trust that you will make the right decision."_

_Dumbledore stopped there, giving Lily a few moments to process all of this information.  That certainly did explain her uncanny perceptiveness and the overwhelming feelings of pity she had for those less fortunate.  But ordinary people felt this way too, didn't they?_

_"Excuse me, Professor, but to my knowledge, there are others who are extremely sensitive, and possess similar characteristics to myself.  As far as I know, they are not er… Cormagni.  Is it possible that there is some sort of mistake?  I don't mean to sound impertinent, Professor, but isn't it possible that I just might be a little more sensitive and a little more perceptive than most people?  Does it necessarily mean that I am a Cormagnus?"_

_She was sitting on the edge of her seat apprehensively, thinking that just maybe she was not as different as she seemed.  _

_Dumbledore smiled.  "You are correct, Miss Evans.  Simply sensitivity and perceptiveness would not properly characterize a Cormagnus.  However, if you do not mind me asking, how do you feel when you are angry?"_

_Lily frowned.  That had been a rather personal question that she normally would have politely refused to respond to, but as this was Dumbledore explaining to her the particulars of her "abnormality" as her sister would say, she thought it to be in her own best interest to answer._

_She tried to recall the last time she had been angry.  She rarely lost her temper; she was usually very good at controlling it.  _

_But why was that?  Slight irritations that barely caused the average person to bat an eyelash disturbed her.  She became upset at things most wouldn't even consider thinking about twice.  And yet, she nearly always managed to control herself.  _

_She had seen others get far less worked up than herself, and they had positively swelled in fury.  But why didn't they worry about letting their emotions show?_

_And then Lily remembered the last time she had lost her temper, and she realized why she never, EVER let herself get angry._

_It had been in fifth grade, the previous year.  Lily had been playing in the yard at recess with some of her classmates.  It was then that she had noticed Hubert sitting against the metal fence.  His legs had been curled up against his chest, his arms folded across his knees, his eyes gazing longingly at the other children at play, yearning to join them, but not daring, for fear of rejection._

_Lily had watched as the two class bullies, enormous boys by the names of Bobby and Loren, rounded on him, poking him, jeering him about his shabby clothing and his thick glasses, calling him a misfit and a loser.  She had seen the look of helplessness on Hubert's face.  _

_She had felt an anger course through her veins.  She had wanted to strike down those two boys, punish them terribly for what they had done.  She wanted them to know misery, to experience torment, both emotionally and physically.  She wanted them to pay._

_She became aware of herself growing hot, even thought it was a chilly autumn day.  She felt the ground shake beneath her feet.  At first, she thought it was just a figment of her own imagination, an illusion caused by her trembling body.  But then she saw the other children stumble, heard their cries of confusion._

_A thought had entered her mind.  _This is me.  I'm doing this._  And suddenly, miraculously, she found that she wasn't angry anymore.  She was too worried, too concerned for the other children._

_She knew why she never let her anger get the better of her.  She was dangerous.  _

_Lily looked into Dumbledore's eyes, a spark of understanding passing from the blue to the green.  _

_"Lily, I think you know that you are a Cormagnus."_

_She nodded, frightened at what she was capable of._

_She opened her mouth, waited, and encouraged by Dumbledore's smile, told him what she had remembered._

_"When, I'm angry, I feel out of control.  I feel real _hatred._  Whoever wronged me has to pay, has to be punished.  I burn up, almost as if I have a boiling pit of lava inside of me.  The ground begins to shake.  I try to hold it in, so I don't hurt anyone, but it's extremely hard to.  I don't let it happen too often.  I don't want to put anyone in danger."  She had said all of this while looking at her hands, because she didn't want to see the look on Dumbledore's face when she told him what a monster she was._

_But when he didn't answer, she made herself look up.  In his eyes, she saw not rebuke, but compassion and- was that pride?_

_"Well," he said satisfied.  "It sounds to me like you're handling yourself very well."_

_She was extremely confused.  Hadn't she just said that she was dangerous?_

_"Sorry?"_

_Dumbledore smiled.  "The greatest task of a Cormagnus is not, as it may seem, reaching out to others, although that is a very important charge.  It is controlling one's own emotions._

_"When a Cormagnus experiences deeply affecting sensations, he or she will release a powerful magic.  The nature of the magic is relative to the specific emotion that was experienced.  Each Cormagnus reacts differently to different feelings.  Therefore, it is important that these feelings be kept in check.  Any burst of strong emotion can emit a magic that is wonderful and beautiful, but it may also be harmful, even lethal."  _

_So that was why she had felt the ground shake.  Her anger had triggered the reaction._

_And that explained why she responded to things so strongly.  But it still didn't clarify  how her parents knew about Hogwarts for years.  And what on earth did it have to do with her piano lessons?_

_"Professor," she began, "if you don't mind me asking, I was under the impression that until muggle-born witches and wizards are given their acceptance letters to Hogwarts, neither they nor their families know anything about the magical world.  My parents told me that they had been expecting me to receive my letter for some time.  How would they have known?"_

_The headmaster's eyes sparkled as they looked at Lily over the half-moon spectacles.  He looked as though he was enjoying himself immensely._

_"Oh, just a little precaution I took when you were younger.  Believe me, it wasn't that simple.  I had quite a time convincing the Ministry of Magic-" He noticed Lily's amazed expression.  "Yes, Ms. Evans, we have a Ministry of Magic, and it took a bit of work to have their permission for me to go and speak with your parents.  You see," he explained, "the Ministry's greatest worry is that muggles will find out about the wizarding world.  Obviously, your parents would have found out eventually, but in their eyes, the less muggles who know about us at one time, the better."  His voice was slightly bitter._

_He suddenly changed his kindly expression to one of slight horror.  "Pardon me, Ms. Evans, I didn't mean to burden you with my political views."_

_She nodded, only mildly aware of what he was saying, and he continued.  "Eventually, the Ministry gave their consent, knowing that if I didn't alert your parents, there would be a lot more than just two muggles finding out about our world.  _

_"I went to your house when you were about a year-and-a-half old, just about the time when your Cormagnus abilities had appeared, and explained to your parents all that I have just told you.  Of course, they were a bit worried at first," he smiled reminiscently, "but I told them that your powers were still developing; they wouldn't have to fully deal with your gift until your teenage years, by which time you would be under my fulltime watch._

_"You know as well as I do that it is not good for you to completely reveal your emotions.  However, keeping one's feelings bottled up inside can do equal damage.  I suggested that your parents help you find a hobby of some sort through which you could express yourself.  That way, you could let free of your inner thoughts while channeling your feelings in a certain direction.  Your father mentioned that you had poked at the keys of the piano in your living room a few times.  I suggested lessons._

_"As of now, it seems as though your strongest emotion is anger.  As you get older, more of these reactions will reveal themselves.  You need to be constantly trying new things, so that as your feelings grow, you will be able to control them.  If you played piano as you do now for years, when a new sentiment breaks through, the piano might not be enough to contain it.  Your parents just bought you a guitar, correct?"_

_"Yes," she answered._

_"You need to practice that. You must always try new things so that your mind will be occupied and so that should a new reaction reveal itself, you will have new means to control it."_

_Lily nodded with a relieving understanding.  It all made sense now.  Why else would her parents have started giving her piano lessons as soon as she was old enough to recognize letters?_

_She stared into Dumbledore's eyes.  She knew she had seen them somewhere before…_

_"Did you ever wonder how you learned so quickly?" he asked her.  "It is because of your passion, your feeling.  With music, hitting the right notes is only half of the work.  It is the feeling, the touch, the flow, that completes the piece.  You, Lily, have feeling such as I have never seen nor heard before.  When you play the piano, every emotion, every thought, every feeling flows into the keys.  Listening to your melodies is like listening to your heart.  Few people are able to make that kind of music."_

_Dumbledore then removed his glasses and pointed his wand at his face, whispering an incantation Lily couldn't hear.  His long silver beard retracted into his face, as did his thick mane of hair.  His crooked nose straightened, the end shooting out and rounding, forming a large bulb.  His ears protruded, and chin became square._

_She gasped.  The new face grinned.  "I suppose you remember me, Miss Evans?"_

_She did.  The man before her had been present at every recital, every performance, and every competition, she had ever attended.  He had always stood in the back, applauding before anyone else had started.  And he had never failed to bring her a fresh bouquet of lilies.  He'd never told her his name, but those brilliant blue eyes always let her know that he was proud._

_And now she knew who he was._

Seventeen-year-old Lily Evans rolled over onto her side, tucking her knees into her stomach, Dumbledore's speech still playing in her head.  The words he had spoken were far from upbeat, but somehow, they gave her reassurance.  

For her, Dumbledore had always been a source of strength and inspiration.  If ever she felt like she was just going to give up all restraint, she would just look at Dumbledore, and know that she could hang on, even if just for a little bit longer.

What he had said about the current state of the wizarding world was true.  Times were dark, and death could be around any corner.  But Dumbledore had said that everyone must live.  He gave words of hope and encouragement.  If everyone would join together, the Dark Side could be defeated.  It seemed highly improbable, but as far as Lily was concerned, if Albus Dumbledore said that the impossible could be accomplished, then she had full faith that it would.

Author's Note: Wow!  You have no idea how hard it was to write this chapter, but it's done!  *does little jig* Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed.  Please keep them coming!  If you have any suggestions for the story or my writing style, please speak up.  I want to be a writer some day, and any tips you could possibly give me are greatly appreciated.  Simple words of comment are also welcome.  I'll be glad to answer any questions anyone has (within reason!).  

Points to anyone who figures out why I gave Thalia her name.  And did you catch Lily's line, "I'm a what"?  What can I say?  Like mother, like son.

I can't promise when the next chapter will be up, but it shouldn't take as long to write as this one did.  James and Sirius aren't nearly as complicated as Albus Dumbledore!  While you're waiting, please read short songfic I've written as well. Thanks again to all!  I love you guys!


	4. Beyond the Horizon

Music of the Night

**Chapter 4:  Beyond the Horizon**

            "COCKADOODOOLE DOOOOOOOOOOO!"

            James Potter sat upright in his bed with a start.  What on earth?  

            His sleep-lidded eyes adjusted to the bright lights shining through the red curtains enclosing his bed.  Red curtains…That's right.  He was in Hogwarts.   And that meant…

            "SIRIUS!!!"

            James scrambled out of bed with difficulty, his stiff limbs getting tangled in his bed sheets several times.  A large black dog was eying him mischievously with wicked glint in its eye.  It slowly reared onto its hind legs.  It was unnaturally stretching and losing its masses of thick black fur.  Sirius Black stood, fully dressed in his Hogwarts robes, grinning wildly.

            "Rise and shine, sleepy-heads," he bellowed, throwing open the curtains to the dormitory and spreading his arms wide at the influx of sunlight that beamed through the window, filling with the room with startlingly bright rays that made James throw his arm up to shield his eyes.

            Sirius swept over to the other two beds in the room and tore open the curtains concealing the sleeping bodies of Remus Lupin and a disgruntled Peter Pettigrew, who upon Sirius' rude interruption of slumber, mumbled something along the lines of, "Help… Quaffle with a pickax…"

            Rolling his eyes, Sirius leaned his face into Peter's and yelled, "Oy!  Wormtail!"  

            Peter's eyes flew open, his body jerking frantically, a wild expression on his face.  "The Snitch is evil!" he shouted, a hint of sleepy drawl still in his voice.

            Sirius clapped him on the back, making him stumble forward and off the bed.  "That's right, Wormtail, ole' boy.  Keep running from the winged walnut.  You just might outstrip it yet."

            Peter blinked lazily as he rolled over, clearly not taking in a single word of what Sirius had just said to him.

            James sat down on his bed as Sirius advanced toward Remus, who had not stirred a bit.  He figured that while Sirius was currently occupied with someone else, he might as well enjoy the peaceful moments when he was free to watch him, rather than to be the subject or sidekick of his jokes.  He folded his arms over his chest, waiting to see how Sirius would fare trying to rouse Remus from his intense sleep.

            Sirius tried to wake Remus the same way he had done with Peter.  But alas, after countless attempts, Remus didn't budge.

            James grinned at his friend's utter failure.  "It's a hopeless cause, Padfoot," he called.  "Remus sleeps like the dead."

            Sirius stepped back, leaning his face on his chin in what he liked to call "The Thinker Position."  He shook Remus back and forth yelling "Moony!  It's time for food!"  The only response he got was a punch in the nose from the sleeper.  

"Ouch!  Moony!" he yelled at this sudden attack of violence.  He rubbed his nose fiercely, forming an even larger red spot on the growing lump.  James met his glance and gave him a look that quite plainly said, "I told you so."

Sirius glared.  "This means war," he stated in a manner that was a cross between severe and mocking.  James snickered as Sirius, nose still glowing scarlet, turned into a dog once more and pounced on Remus's motionless body, licking his face vigorously.

            That did it.  Remus thrashed about wildly before opening his eyes.  Upon sight of a large black dog sitting on his chest, he gave a startled scream of surprise.

            "Padfoot!   Get off me!  That's disgusting!"   He grabbed a towel from his night table and thoroughly wiped his face.  "What was that for?"

            Sirius changed back into human form and pointed to his bright nose.  "This."

            Remus looked mildly pleased.  "Oh, did I do that?  So sorry." 

            He grabbed a towel and lumbered to the bathroom.  "I get the first shower," he mumbled.

            James was about to protest, considering he had been awake first.  But he quickly dismissed this thought when he remembered that Remus had just donned a face full of Sirius's dog drool.

            He turned to his friend who was quickly pacing back and forth, looking at his watch, the familiar expression of awaited monkey business on his face. 

            "What are you so excited for, Padfoot?"  James asked him in between spits while haphazardly brushing his teeth.  "You're usually harder to wake up than Moony."

            Sirius sighed with contentment.   "Ah, James.  It is the first day of our last year at dear old Hoggy Warty Hogwarts.  The sun is shining.  The ladies are waiting.  The Quidditch field is green and grassy.  Our friend Snivelly is looking as gruesome as ever.  I won't be getting any more Howlers from my beloved Mumsy.  I've got a whole supply of Dungbombs in my trunk and a whole house of Slytherins waiting to smell them.  My best friend can take away points from the lot of them snakes, and we're having the traditional first-day-back breakfast this morning:  Chocolate-chip pancakes."  Glancing in the mirror, James saw an expression of utter bliss on Sirius's face.

            Sirius clapped Peter, who was now awake and diligently taking in every word Sirius said, on the back.  "Life is good."  Peter grinned, then jumped up to claim the shower when Remus stepped into the room.

            "Yup," Remus said.  "It sure is."  He paused.  "Why?"

            Sirius gave his infamous grin.  "Because we've got havoc to wreak and a whole long list of ways to do it."

            "Careful Padfoot," teased Remus, motioning to James.  "We've got a Head Boy dorming with us now."

            "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much," said Sirius, sauntering over to James and putting an arm around his shoulder.  "I think ole' Prongsie will be able to pull a few strings for us.  What say it?  Give us a few passwords, sweet talk our ways out of detention…huh?"  He gave him a light punch in the chest.

            James furtively glanced at Remus, who was very intently tying his shoes, avoiding James's gaze.  Not knowing exactly how to answer Sirius's question he simply grinned and responded, "What do you think?" 

            Sirius emitted a sound of glee and bounded down the stairs, finally growing unbearably impatient and not waiting for the rest of the group to come with him.

            James turned to Remus, who was busying himself by tidying up his already immaculate chest of drawers.  "Say something, Moony."

            Remus looked up, the familiar look of exhaustion haunting his eyes.  "He doesn't know, does he?"

            James shook his head.  "Come on, Remus.  You heard him just now.  That'll be really nice.  I'll just go to him and say, 'Sorry Padfoot, but I don't think I'll be in on the pranks very much.  Head Boy's a responsibility, you see.'"

            "James, you don't have to do this.  It's your last year in Hogwarts.  Make the most of it.  I don't want you to be miserable just because of me."

            James raised his voice slightly, feeling himself getting heated.  "Moony, you did not give up your position just so I could blow up toilets!"

            "No," said Remus steadily.  "I gave up my position because I had no business being in it.  I'm out three days a month, and in a horrible state the few days before and after the full moon.  And Dumbledore probably only made me a Prefect because he thought I could control you.  Fat lot that did.  I'm not at the top of the class, and could even be a danger to other students.  You and Evans are the top students in the year.  So what if you get into trouble now and then?  Dumbledore obviously didn't care.  Why should you?"

            "I'll tell you why!" yelled James.  "Because I would be one louse of a friend if you think for one minute that just because you're a werewolf and gave up your Headboyship for me, I'll just forget all about it and go off abusing the position that shouldn't even have been mine in the first place!"

            Who did Remus think he was, outwardly commanding to be a naughty little boy? He could never do that to Remus, his best friend who had been forced to give up so much.  What kind of decent person could just forget about all of that?  

His chest was heaving, his nostrils flared.  Remus didn't retaliate; he simply looked too tired.  "I'm not going to argue with you now, James.  Just don't change for me."

            James opened his mouth to begin venting again, when Peter stepped into the room.  He paused at the sight of the red-faced James.  His eyes nervously darted back and forth between the two boys.  "Everything all right in here?" he asked concernedly.  

            Remus looked away from James's glare.  "Yeah.  Just fine."  Without so much as glancing at anyone or anything else except for his feet in front of him, he strode out of the room, a bewildered Peter looking after him.

            James brought his hand up to his hair and began rumpling it, as he often did when he when he had a great deal of nervous energy.

            "Prongs?" Peter said softly, looking up at his tall friend.

            James snapped out of his trance.  "I'm fine, Peter.  You go to breakfast without me.  I'll be there soon."  He grabbed a towel and pushed open the bathroom door, leaving a stunned Peter alone in the dormitory room wondering what was going on right in front of his nose.

*   *   *

            The tension between two of the four Marauders had subsided considerably by the time breakfast began.  James had sat down at the table and began piling his plate with his usual five pounds of food.  Remus had already been talking to an elated Sirius.  Or rather, listening, as since the school year had approached, Sirius's usual perkiness had only intensified, making him more garrulous and cheerful, or more irritating, than usual, depending on whom was asked.

            James noticed as he shoveled pancakes into his mouth, that both Remus and Peter wisely did not bring up the incident that had occurred in the dormitory.  Peter didn't often try to get involved in issues that did not concern him.  In his eyes, whatever other people did, they did for a reason, and he wasn't quite at the level where it was his duty and right to know what that reason was.  Good kid, that Peter.  He could have gone quite far if he weren't so insecure with himself.

            And Remus knew better than to argue once James put his foot down.  James winced slightly into his breakfast, cursing his temper and his obstinacy.  Remus had only been looking out for him, wanting the best for him.  And he had lost it again.  But why had he lost it?  Was it really because of that, or because of something else, something greater? He really needed to learn to control himself.  And figuring out the reasons for his sudden mood swings wouldn't hurt either.  He grumpily stabbed at his hash browns.

            Sirius suddenly halted his banter and raised an eyebrow at James.  "Good mood, this morning, huh Prongs?"

            James forced himself a small smile.  "Yeah, you know.  First day back."

            Sirius nodded and contorted his face into what he must have thought was a mildly somber expression.  "Ah.  The taxing duties and obligations required of a Headboy.  The horrific prospects of spending more time than necessary in the headmaster's office, dealing with unruly First-years, and collaborating efforts with the dreaded Head Girl.

              James snorted.  If that's what Sirius wanted to believe was the source of his dour disposition, who was he to correct him?  "Yeah."

            "You've got quite a tough one there, James," Sirius warned, as the foursome glanced down the table to where Lily Evans was sitting with Sirius's cousin Thalia, who was animatedly telling an apparently very interesting story, as she held the attention of every person within six feet of her.  She was clearly enjoying herself.  Lily seemed otherwise occupied, however, as she absent-mindedly stirred her oatmeal, her brilliant green eyes somewhat glazed as they stared at a spot just above William Garroway's left shoulder.

            "That," said Sirius, pointing with his thumb, "has got to be the most confusing person I have ever met."

            James silently agreed.  If he hadn't been the subject of an explosion of hers at the end of fifth year, he would have thought that she was merely positively stiff and stifled.  Instead she just seemed to be volatile, with a very short list of things that got her ticked off.  And James knew that he was on that list.  

            What was it that she had said to him?  _Messing up your hair because you think it looks cool to look like you've just got off your broomstick, showing off with that stupid Snitch, walking down corridors and hexing anyone who annoys you just because you can- I'm surprised your broomstick can get off the ground with that fat head on it.  You make me SICK._

            The memory still brought a fresh wave of embarrassment to James every time he brought that day to mind.  He couldn't care less how Evans felt about him now, but back then it had been quite demoralizing.  He hadn't realized that he could be so despicable.  And Lily Evans, his crush since the first time he had laid eyes on her, had blatantly announced to a crowd of his fans exactly what she thought of the notorious James Potter and had then marched off, probably to gloat over her satisfaction at rendering him speechless.

            James had felt like the ground would only be too kind as to swallow him up right then an there.  If he hadn't had a reputation to uphold, he probably would have found it a great deal more difficult to appear nonchalant despite his feelings of incredible guilt and shame.  He resolved then and there that he no longer could have feelings for anyone who had so willingly and knowingly caused him such conflicting and uncharacteristic emotions.  He was James Potter!  He would not be treated like that.  

            It had been that summer that he had begun his massive growth spurt, adding eight inches to his formally short and wiry body, making him tall, awkward and spindly.  James had put extra efforts into his Quidditch training season that summer, increasing his already insatiable appetite.  He had gorged himself considerably, filling out his skinny frame.  He was not exceptionally brawny, but at least now he had some height to speak of.

            And something very interesting that James learned about height and meat was that it attracted girls.  He had never really considered his options before; he had always been mentally tied down by a certain redhead.  He supposed his immediate status as a heartthrob could have been due to his exemplary Quidditch skills, which had, if possible, only gotten better over the summer.  Or maybe it was because his parents were top-ranking ministry officials enhanced by rather voluminous paychecks.  James hadn't really wasted a thought wondering what their reasons were; he just cared that they found him somewhat alluring, allowing him to be idolized even further, something he was very good at.  It was fun.  He never had to go anywhere alone.  There would always be some girl somewhere willing to walk in on his arm, and the next day, he could find someone else.

            So in a way, he supposed that Lily Evans had done him a world of good by publicly rejecting him, although he was certainly more than glad that for the most part, no one remembered that uncomfortable episode.

            Remus looked at James, determined to end the prickles of whatever remnants of tension from earlier that morning were still in the air.    He spoke in a casual manner, subtly hinting that he only wanted to continue things the way they once had been.  "How do you think you're going to fare with her, huh?  Win your way into her good graces?"   

             James was spared the trouble of thinking up a witty answer by Sirius's interruption.  "I don't think Prongs would dare.  Remember fifth year?"

            "Ah, yes," commented Peter.  "The legendary 'You make me sick!' affair."

            "After which, I seem to recall, you locked yourself in the bathroom and emerged hours later looking as though you wanted to drown yourself," Remus pointed out.

            James opened his mouth to argue that no, he had in fact been drenched head to foot by a water balloon thrown at him by Peeves, and he had only shut himself up in the bathroom to avoid the other three, but Sirius interjected once again.

            "Oh, and then there was fourth year."

            "I believe that was the year of the Tornado Hex," said Remus.  "Pity, you just didn't realize that when Lily Evans says 'Kindly step away from me immediately, Mr. Potter, before I feel threatened and a hex flies out of my wand,' she really meant it.

            Peter chuckled.  "Yeah, that was funny."  When he saw James's menacing expression, he immediately stopped.  "Although James is the only person I've ever met who doesn't look all that bad with flapping clothing and hair."

            "Nice save," James muttered, as Peter reddened slightly.  "Are you finished yet?" he said bitterly.

            Sirius grinned.  "Oh, look at that.  We've hit a nerve."  James glared.

            "Don't get so defensive, Prongs.  Just reminding you why you'll need to be extra-careful that you don't get caught."  

            Peter leaned forward anxiously, recognizing the innuendo with which Sirius had alluded to a grand scheme.  He had always enjoyed Sirius's pranks.  "What've you got in mind, Padfoot?"

            "Oh, nothing too original," he said.  "Just something to remind everyone that we're all alive and well."

            He glanced at James.  "So what say it?  You in?"

            James looked at Sirius, his face wild with eagerness and expectations.  Then he remembered Remus, the would-be-prefect who just happened to be a werewolf.  He was looking more tired than usual, if possible, and exceptionally pale, despite the fact that he had just come back from a summer vacation.  Was it really fair to Remus to join in on thoughtless pranks?  

But was it fair to let down Sirius and Peter?  He had been best friends with the lot of them since first year.  They had done everything together.  This was the first mark they would make as seventh-years.  Would it be right to just abandon them?

            And did he really _want _to do this?  Would playing a joke truly give him the satisfaction he had once craved?  But if he didn't do what was expected of him and agree, where would that put him?  Sirius would understand about Remus, but what about whatever else it was that kept murmuring in his ear, telling him to just say 'no'?

            But, then again, this was just one prank.  One prank wouldn't hurt anything.  One small, tiny, insignificant little joke would not be enough to jeopardize his Headboyship.  And besides, he rarely ever got caught anyway.  Look how much they'd gotten away with!  They'd even become illegal Animagi for Pete's sake!

            No, nothing would be wrong with one moment of harmless fun.  Hadn't Remus told him not to change just for his sake?

            He looked up.  "Yeah, I'm in."

            He found it difficult not to look at Remus.  The young werewolf tried to look happy; he had, after all, encouraged James's involvement in Sirius's mischief, but James knew that deep down, he was feeling genuinely hurt.

            His thoughts were interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.  He turned around to face Lily Evans, or rather, to look up to her.  Jeez, she was tall.

            "What can we help you with on this fine morning, Lily-dear?" Sirius asked mockingly, giving James a knowing glance.

            Lily answered back, her voice flat and monotonous, as though what she was saying was an absolute waste of her time.  "I hate to interrupt your obviously fascinating conversation that is doubtlessly consisting of an accumulation of spontaneous plots thrown together for the sole purpose of making this fine institution we call school a more chaotic or, if you prefer, _interesting_ place to be, but I'm afraid I must steal away Mr. Potter for one moment before he haphazardly forgets that he is supposed to be somewhat – dare I say it – _responsible_."   

            Sirius snickered.  Peter merely looked dumbfounded.

            "He's all yours, Miss Evans, ma'am," Sirius told her, beckoning with a wave of his hand.  

            "Too kind," she answered, as James stood up next to her.  He was once again amazed at her height.  If he had any desire to whatsoever, he could have nearly looked directly into her eyes, without bending his head at all.  If he was 6"1, that would make her…blimey.

            "What is it, Evans?" he asked her casually.  

            "Course schedules," she answered tersely, handing him an enormous wad of colored parchment.  Hand the appropriate programs to the appropriate Prefects.  Shouldn't be too hard.  Red to Gryffindor, green to Slytherin, you understand, I'm sure.  You are Head Boy after all."

            He stared blankly.  He couldn't fathom how one person could be so rigid, so dry, so much of a martinet, and still have people to call friends.  Sirius was right.  She was the most confusing person he had ever met.  

            She noticed that he wasn't moving.  "You see, Mr. Potter, generally when one must deliver something, one must first move his or her feet."

            "Oh, right."

            Evans gave an exasperated sigh.  "This is going to be one long year."  She then turned to distribute her half of the schedules.

            The three Marauders still remaining at the table watched this entire scene while chortling considerably.

            "What d'you reckon?"  Sirius asked as he watched James dazedly make his way over to the Hufflepuff table.

            Remus grinned.  It was obvious that James still had a thing for Lily Evans.  "I think she'll do him a world of good."

*   *   *

            Each class seemed to begin identically, give or take a few sighs of foreboding.

            No teacher was shy about letting every seventh-year know at every possible available moment of the dire importance of the N.E.W.T.s.  James was thoroughly bored with it.  Yes, it was imperative that they work to their utmost abilities.  Yes, the results of the exams would have tremendous impacts on the rest of their lives.  So why were the teachers wasting precious time telling this to them instead of actually teaching?

            James strummed his fingers on his desk as Professor McGonagall repeated her version of the same speech he had been hearing all day.

            "…one of the most important things you will ever do.  I must impress upon you the seriousness of these exams.  They should not be taken lightly.  This year, they must be your utmost priority.  All else can wait.  Your future lies within the tests …"

            The future.  What of the future?  James certainly didn't have any clue what he wanted to do.  He had simply chosen his classes by which ones he felt were the most useful in general; he didn't have a specific occupation in mind.  

            He definitely did NOT want to work for the ministry.  It wasn't exactly that it was boring, but politics drove him up the wall.  It was far too much of a bother to worry about knowing certain people and knowing how to get done what it is that you want, even if you might not be the person authorized to do it.  He couldn't for the life of him keep track of all the officials his parents had brought home to dinner over the years.  In fact, he was willing to bet that even his parents didn't know who half of them were.

            Sirius had suggested that he look into a career playing professional Quidditch.  For reasons totally beyond the grasps of anyone else he had discussed this with, James knew he would never even consider that.  Flying was something that just came naturally to him.  It was his way of letting everything go.  It was his time to be free, to just be James.  Turning that into a career would just be wrong. He felt that flying should be something he loved, not something he had to do.

            James glanced over to Sirius, who was presently bewitching his roll of parchment to write rather obscene words in fluorescent ink colors open being opened by anyone other than Sirius himself.

            He brought a hand to the back of his messy, black-haired head.  With nothing else to do, he pulled out a role of parchment and began to take notes on the lesson that McGonagall had thankfully just started.

            His next class's start was little better.  James thought very highly of Professor Flitwick, more than anything else because of his uncanny ability to remain positively upbeat and cheerful throughout the entire lesson, no matter what hex or faulty charm was sent his way.  However, James felt that one more talk about the impending N.E.W.T.s, and he would hurl an inkbottle at whoever's head happened to be nearest.  He didn't want to have to think about his future just yet.  He was only seventeen.  

            "Now that you've heard about as much as you can handle about the N.E.W.T.s, we can go on to our lesson," said Professor Flitwick, after finishing up his brief introduction to the significance of this year's curriculum.  

            The class let out a highly audible sigh of relief.  

            "Now, now," joked the professor.  "It wasn't so bad.  Everyone please take out your books, The Seventh Year's Guide to Charms."

            The rustling of parchment and pages was heard as everyone unearthed battered copies of their textbooks.

            Professor Flitwick looked around the room the best the he could, given that the top of his head barely reached the uppermost drawer of his desk.  "Very nice," he squeaked.  "I'm glad to see that you have all managed to scrounge for a copy of the textbook.  Like the other books in this series that you have studied with thus far, it is incredibly old and out of date, much to our dismay.  The language used is ancient, and the misspellings of the most basic words are horrendous.  However, be that as it may, it is the most accurate of all the Charms textbooks in circulation."  He cracked a grin.  "Makes you wonder about those other textbooks."

            "We will be using them for references.  I do urge you to learn what you can in the classroom itself, and to take ample notes.  In the event that you are unable to do so, the lessons explained in the textbooks will have to suffice, although I would rather that you just use it as a final resort."

            The class murmured in understanding.  James noticed Lily Evans smile to herself and scribble a few notes onto a piece of parchment.

            Professor Flitwick jumped out of sight.  Scuffling noises were heard behind the desk where the teacher was undoubtedly walking.  Some of the students in the front rows craned their necks to try to see over the desk.  Lily Evans broke into a wide smile once again.  James remembered overhearing her complaining once to Thalia about her intolerant sister, who apparently had an abnormally long neck, usually used for peeking over the garden fence to spy on the Evanses' neighbors.  Undoubtedly, Evans had been reminded of this.

            Professor Flitwick was finally seen as he walked around to the front of his desk, peering up at his students.  "Who," he asked in his high-pitched voice, "knows what a Loquerer is?"

            To no one's surprise, Lily Evans, who excelled in Charms, was the first to raise her hand.

            Professor Flitwick pointed to her as he called on her.  "Yes, Ms. Evans?"

            "A Loquerer is an object charmed to allow for communication between two or more individuals across long distances.  Loquerers usually come in pairs, one for each person involved in the conversation.  They generally take on the forms of ordinary household objects, so as to be concealed from the enemy.  I say 'the enemy,' because they are widely used among underground spy networks.  However, they may serve many practical uses too, similar to muggle telephones or walkie-talkies."

            Professor Flitwick beamed.  "Excellent, Ms. Evans!  Ten points to Gryffindor!  Perhaps you would be so kind later as to explain to some of our less-informed students exactly what a telephone is."

            James glanced at Sirius, who wore a twisted expression that relayed the utmost turmoil.  Sirius undoubtedly agreed with Flitwick, as did James.  Muggles were a lot smarter than most wizards gave them credit for.  But James also knew that Sirius's internal conflicts were not due to his own feelings of Pure-blood Pride.  His clash was with his family, some of the most intolerant wizards on the planet.  

            Sirius hadn't really told James much about the row that had finally driven him to leave Grimmauld Place for the Potter residence, and James hadn't pushed him for the story.  But James had a nagging feeling that Sirius's family's bigotry against anything remotely muggle-related and Sirius's acceptance of other ways of life were largely to blame.

            The rest of the lesson was spent discussing the various uses of Loquerers.  Professor Flitwick informed them that later on in the year, they would be charming their own Loquerers, much to the delight of the class.

            James breathed a small sigh of relief when the bell rang signaling the end of class.  It wasn't that he hadn't somewhat enjoyed his Charms lesson (after the N.E.W.T. shpiels, of course), but he had piles of work to do, and he was just itching to get onto his broomstick.

*   *   *

            James shoved his textbook closed and grabbed his head compulsively.

            "Prongs?" Remus asked him tentatively, looking up from his Defense Against the Dark Arts essay.

            "Sorry, Remus.  I've just got a lot to deal with."

            Remus looked away.  "Yeah."  He began shuffling through the pages in his textbook once more.

            James leaned his head back onto the plush armchair, trying to release his mind of the multifarious facts and images swimming in and out of his thoughts.  "Look," he started to say.  "About before, with Sirius-"

            "It's alright Prongs," Remus hurriedly interrupted.  "Really.  This is your last year.  You should be having fun."

            "But that's just it, Remus.  I don't know if, I mean, it's not so fun anymore."  James blurted it out.  He had been trying to keep it in.  

            Remus raised his weary gray eyes and stared intently into James's.  "Stop it, Prongs.  I meant it.  You don't have to go changing for me."

            James stood up.  "Fine."  Without bothering to pick up his things, he made his way to the staircase in the back of the Common Room, nearly tripping on Sirius, who was sprawled out in front of the hearth, tossing Squimfiddle Squealers into the fire to listen to the slightly rude noises that they emitted.  

            "Hey watch it!" he exclaimed, as several Squealers spontaneously combusted, leaving behind a trail of purple slime.  Several third-years who had been watching gave a few loud hoots and a quick round of applause.

            He looked up to see the identity of the culprit.  "Oh, hey James.  Sorry about that.  Thought I might finally get to hear a donkey in labor.  But now at least we know what the Squealers are made of, huh?

            James forced a feeble smile onto his face and continued past Sirius.

            "Hey James?" Sirius called loudly over the raucous laughter.  "Where you off to?"

            James paused pensively for a moment, cocking his head to the side.  "I think I'll take my broomstick out for a bit."

            "Right.  It's always the broomstick, James.  Do you have something you're not telling me?"  He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, gaining an even wilder response from the crowd.

            "Get your mind out of the gutter," James muttered as he turned to head up the stairs.

            "And that," he heard Sirius telling his audience, "was denial.  First sign of absolute, genuine, utter attraction."

            James sighed.  They just didn't get it.  

            He walked over to his trunk and carefully pulled out his most cherished possession.  He unwrapped the layers of protective cloth and rolled out the gleaming broomstick, a sleek Silver Arrow, glossed to perfection, twigs trimmed to flawless equality.  He ran his hands over the smooth wood, treating it tenderly, almost like a newborn baby that would cry if it were handled in any manner slightly less than affectionate.  

            After gingerly placing his broom onto his bed, he dressed in his warm woolen cloak, which he had bought from Diagon Alley, specifically with flying in mind.  It was thick, so it kept in his body warmth, but despite its weight, it was light and fluid.  It didn't hold him down, allowing him to swerve in and out of goalposts at his leisure.

            Broom in hand, he went down the stairs and left toward the Quidditch pitch.

            Countless thoughts were whirling through his brain like rampant cyclones.  He didn't know what had happened to him over the summer, but _something_ definitely had.  Suddenly he didn't feel so in the mood for pranks anymore.  Not just because of Remus, but because…of something else.  

            Why was that?  Why was it that they didn't give him the same thrill that they used to, the same feeling of superiority and amazement that anything could be that hilarious? He had once thrived on the anticipations of the mischief that would ensue in the near future.  And then one day he woke up, and his tricks just didn't seem that funny, his mannerisms suddenly were pompous, and he had felt distant, more alone.

            But the Marauders were the best friends he'd ever had, and could ever hope to have in the future.  So why couldn't he tell them?  Because they wouldn't understand.  No one would understand.  Their ringleader, their source of enjoyment, their genius, brilliant, scheming James Potter wanted to be a good boy?

            _Did_ he want to be a good boy?  Or did he just not want to be a bad boy? 

            And then there was the flying.  No one could possibly grasp the exact sensations he felt when he was flying.  It wasn't just a hobby; it was a necessity.

            He sighed.  Flying.  His escape.  That was exactly what he needed right now.  To be released of his complex and confusing emotions, and to just let everything go.

            He reached the edge of the Quidditch Pitch and paused, drinking in every breath of sharp wind, absorbing the movement of every blade of newly cut grass.  

            He mounted his broomstick and kicked off, soaring through his endless space, savoring every moment.  He was home.

The twilight sky was engaging and enrapturing.  Arcs of marigold mingled with beams of streaming magenta and hues of violet, blending seamlessly, branching outward from a half-moon of fire, which glowed scarlet from behind a translucent layer of periwinkle, gold-tipped clouds.  The streaks of color were reflected in the tranquil lake, the waters like a smooth sheet of glass, mirroring the sunset above it.  Beyond the verdant lawns, Hogwarts castle stood silhouetted against the near-night sky, its towers and turrets appearing even more majestic and magnificent.  The setting was purely serene, nature in its proper course.  James breathed in the crisp evening air, feeling the invigoration in his lungs and the rush of adrenaline throughout his body.

He streaked off toward the goalposts, swerving in and out of the hoops, enjoying the flipping sensation in his stomach, relishing the breezes of wind rushing through his hair and whipping about his robes, reveling in the glorious feeling of being lighter than air, being the king of the world, being free.

            That's what this was.  Freedom.  All worries and anxieties were left behind on the ground.  All other appointments and activities could wait.  He loved every particle of matter, every element of nature.  He bore no grudges, had no fears.  No one could judge him; no one could tell him the way things were supposed to be.  He wanted to learn everything about everything, to better understand and embrace the glorious world.  

He knew something was changing, and while it was confusing at the present, all would work out in the end, because it always did when he was in his special place.  His answers were all there, just beyond that miraculous sunset, just beyond the horizon.

            He was just James.  

            This was freedom, and the air was his to conquer. 

*   *   *

            The little old woman hobbled down corridor after corridor, without any clue as to where she was going.  Each stone passageway looked the same as the next one, and every door seemed identical to the one before it.  

            Why had she come to Hogwarts castle now?  She should have done this years ago, when she was still in her prime, with a memory strong enough to remind her whether or not she was going in circles.

            She paused with a sharp intake of breath at a sudden acute pain searing through her left ankle.  She grabbed the stone wall and lowered herself, cradling her ankle in her withered hands.  She rocked back and forth, cursing herself for making such a long and tiresome journey at a time when she was no longer capable of accomplishing such a feat.  

            Why hadn't she done this when she was still a sprightly young witch, still with the ability to prevent so much pain and suffering?  It had all been for nothing.  If only she had come sooner.

            She gave a tiny yelp at an unexpected throb from her foot. 

            "Hello?  Who's there?"  The voice of a young man called her from within the shadows.

            "Over here!  Please help me!" 

            The few seconds seemed like an eternity until a teenage boy came running to her, broomstick in hand.  It was hard to make out his face.  The boy was extremely tall, and the faint flickers of light that spasmodically gave the hallway an eerie glow were obscuring his features.  In this poor illumination, he almost reminded her of someone else, a tall young man, with black hair…   

            Upon seeing her, he immediately knelt at her side.  Through teary eyes she made out the forms of black-rimmed spectacles and a thin face.  "Here," he said gently.  "Let me help you."

            He effortlessly scooped up the old woman in his arms, handling her carefully so as not to let her knock into the broomstick.  "Thank you," she whispered jaggedly, trying not to faint from the pain.

            "Would you like me to take you to the hospital wing?  I'm sure Madam Pomphrey will be able to cure your ankle in an instant."

            She shook her head.  "No, thank you.  I need to see Professor Dumbledore right away."

            He sounded concerned.  "Are you sure?  It can't be good for you, trying to get around on that foot.  I'm sure if she just looked at it-"

            "No!"  She felt the boy's arms contract for a moment in alarm.  "No," she repeated, softer this time.  "I must see Dumbledore immediately."

            If the boy had any inquiries as to the reasons of her anxiety or her request, he showed no signs of making any motions to express that.  He walked swiftly and gracefully, despite the weight in his arms.  She silently thanked him for that.  She found it hard enough to articulate and experience over again the guilt that she had felt every day for the last seven years even once; to burden her anonymous rescuer with the innermost remorse and regrets of an ancient old woman and have yet another scorn her for her selfishness, was just more than she could bear.  

            The boy carried her in silence for what seemed like an eternity.  So long had she waited to free herself of her affliction.  As much as she was dreading the things she would have to admit to, she felt that the moment would never be able to come soon enough.

            The boy finally paused in front of a large block of stone.  Between the dimness of the castle and her wretchedly poor eyesight, she was not able to make out its form.

            "Pumpkin Pasty!"  The boy declared, his eyes on the hulking mass.

            It moved sideways, sliding out of view to reveal a large spiral staircase.  On this, the boy stepped, carrying the bedazzled old woman, and the stairs moved upwards, to stop in front of a large majestic door.

            He kicked the wood with his foot, as his hands were occupied.  They waited for a few moments before a feeble voice called "Enter" through the door.

            The door opened of its own accord, revealing an elderly wizard seated behind a grand mahogany desk.  The room was illuminated by candles, allowing the woman to take in some of her surroundings had she wanted to.  But she just looked imploringly at Dumbledore, who eyed her with an expression of curiosity and foreboding, as though he knew from her dismal countenance that whatever news she bore would be words of darkness and warning.

            The headmaster looked up to meet the gaze of the boy.  "Yes, Mr. Potter?"

            "Excuse me, sir.  I was returning from the Quidditch pitch when I found this woman.  Her ankle is hurt, but she was very insistent on seeing you, Professor, even before she got any treatment."

            The woman nodded her head briefly, wincing from the intermittent aches in her ankle, which now spread up to her shinbone.  

            Dumbledore motioned to the young man to leave her with him.

            The boy called Potter delicately lowered the woman down to a plush armchair in front of the desk.  "Thank you," she whispered, looking into his eyes, seeing there maturity blended with uncertainty and youthfulness, swirled in a whirlpool of countless shades of green and brown.

            He nodded, tersely said farewell to his headmaster, and walked out of the door.

            The old woman watched him leave, and then turned face Dumbledore, taking sharp intakes of breath, both because of the intolerable stabs of pain in her leg and because of the trepidation that was consuming her upon revealing her darkest secret. 

            He snapped his fingers together suddenly, and a tight bandage wrapped itself around her ankle, dulling her pain considerably.  

            "Thank you," she uttered.

            Dumbledore did not reply; he merely gazed at her with an inquisitive intensity, waiting for her to speak.

            She inhaled deeply, mentally preparing herself for what she had to do.

            "I have something to tell you…Something I should have told you long ago."

Author's Note:  I know, I know.  I'm cruel.  But what can I say?  How else would I have made sure that people kept reading?

**I'm sure you're wondering about out dear friend James Potter.  It's okay, perfectly normal.  He's a very interesting character.  Very complex.  Something of a split personality. Don't try to understand him just yet (unless you REALLY want to); sometimes I'm not even sure that I do.**

**Oh, so sorry about that whole sunset scene.  I know it was terribly written.  I have not a poetic tissue in my body.  I was just experimenting to see what I could do.  I'll take it out if it was really that horrible.  For the meantime, thank you for being my patient guinea pigs.**

**Thanks so much to everyone who reviewed.  Your helpful hints were very much taken to heart; please let me know if I've improved! ****J**

**Please tell me if you'd like to see anything in particular happen.  I have my basic outline, of course, but if your requests don't terribly distort the plot, I'll see what I can do to make my fic all the more appealing to the public.**

**I have this little "thing" that prevents me from starting the next chapter until I have what I feel to be sufficient amounts of reviews.  After all, who wants to work without encouragement, or at least some acknowledgement of one's existence?  So, please review.  Thanks!**

**Love you guys!  -Silvertongue**


	5. Abbandono

Author's note:  Yay!  I finally finished!  Sorry to keep you all waiting; you will not believe the month I had.  I started writing, but it was very hard because of a religious restriction that didn't allow me to listen to music for a week and a half, and we all know that I need my music.  Then I had two consecutive piano concerts to prepare for, and immediately after that there was the blackout.  Then I had that nasty Blaster virus, which took DAYS to remove.  While that was going on I started volunteering at a daycamp and I came home exhausted every day from running after six energetic boys.  All was going well, save my constant lethargy, and then Tuesday meant I wake up in the morning and can't move my knee.  So, I've been hobbling around from doctor to doctor; we still didn't get the results back yet from the MRI.  Now tie all that in with summer homework, preparation for school, studying for the PSATs, and you've got yourself one hectic month.  But I did it!  So here it is!

            Sorry for my incoherent rambling, but I figured that if you're still here, you may as well have a somewhat valid excuse for my absence.

            And now, here's Chapter 5:

Music of the Night

**Chapter 5:  Abbandono**

            Lily made her way lethargically to the Gryffindor table for breakfast.  Through her droopy eyes she managed to see where her three dorm mates were busily chattering over their plates of pancakes.  She plopped down next to Thalia, who stopped her conversation and surveyed her with disapproval.

            "What?" she asked at her friend's "Tsk tsk."

            Thalia shook her head.  "Lily, Lily.  It's only the first week of school, and already you look as though you've just taken a twenty-hour plane ride with a wailing baby in the next seat."

            Lily gave a weak smile from behind the hands that were rubbing her weary eyes.  "Mm hmm.  I don't think I've had a decent sleep since third year."

            "You're too hard on yourself, Lily."

            Hannah nodded in agreement.

            Lily sighed.  "I just want to do well, Thalia."

            Thalia frowned.  "As I seem to remember, you did perfectly well in first and second year too.  Not to mention that you were a lot more interesting to talk to during breakfast."  She spooned a healthy portion of oatmeal into a bowl and shoved it in front of Lily's drawn face.  "Eat up.  You need your energy."

            Lily picked up the spoon and ate a small bite.

            "Honestly, Lily," Thalia started lecturing again.  "Not everything has to be perfect.  You get Outstanding on all of your papers.  And I'm sure that you would still get those marks even if you didn't proofread everything three times over and look up countless other sources just to get more out of the assignment.  You're allowed to make a mistake every once in a while.  You don't have to be such a perfectionist."  

            Lily twirled her spoon around lazily.  "I'm not a perfectionist.  I'm just compulsive."

            Thalia patted her friend on the hand.  "Yes, dear.  You just keep telling yourself that."

            Karen snickered.  While Lily generally just smiled when something was humorous as opposed to bursting out loud, Karen had a great deal of difficulty concealing her amusement when it came to Thalia's unusually random comments.

            Lily looked up and for the first time that morning, her eyes focused properly enough to realize that Thalia was not blonde as she usually was.  Quite contrary to her usual mop of yellow curls, on this fine day she was adorned with a shiny sheet of jet-black hair.  

            "I take it this is one of the latest?"

            Thalia beamed.  "Ooh!  You noticed!"

            "Of course I noticed.  You aren't exactly being subtle."

            "No, I meant because you're sleep deprived.  But yeah, this was a new one for this year.  It's not a particularly good one, rather feels like hay, but you can't tell by looking at it.  The other one I got is upstairs.  I swear Lily, when I put it on, we'll look like sisters!  Well, better than that actually, considering your sister isn't particularly nice to look at, and I'd like to think that I'd be a tad more attractive than her.  Right?  Of course.  Anyway, that wig's much better.  Mum told me it's made from real hair, and you've never felt anything that soft.  And it's not from a human either.  It's from a sphinx's mane!  Now, of course I was a bit worried about that.  I mean you know about unicorn hairs, and dragon heartstrings, and how they're used to make wands.  Magical core whatsits.  So, naturally I was scared that it would explode on my head or let off red sparks or something, but Ted told me it doesn't do that if the creature's part-human because of course then they would actually know what was being done to them and would purposely force any magic in their hair out of it so it couldn't be put to human use.  Personally, I'm curious to know how anyone would even get close enough to a sphinx without getting their head chomped off, but I guess a Stunning spell would be okay. But even so.  I don't know about you, but I definitely wouldn't want to risk it, pretty as those wigs are."

            Lily was spared the delight of answering by the inundation of owls that diffused throughout the Great Hall amidst anxious stares and screechy hoots.  

            Athena swooped down in front of her glass of orange juice and dropped a letter onto her lap.  After a quick peck at the piece of toast Lily put on her plate for her, she flew off to join her winged friends in the Owlery.  Lily was about to tear open the envelope when she noticed a peculiar shade of ochre.   

            A large unidentifiable bird clumsily dropped an envelope in front of Hannah.

            Karen looked at Hannah inquisitively.  "What's that?"

            Hannah shrugged and turned over the envelope.  "Oh," she smiled.  "It's from my father."

            Lily perked up with interest.  Mr. Guilford was a highly prominent Ministry official, working for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.  Lily didn't find this particular branch of government especially fascinating, but as she wanted to work in the ministry one day, she was always eager to learn of the workings and methods of the wizarding lawmakers.  Apparently, Mr. Guilford was deployed throughout the globe for the purpose of sighting, Stunning, and taming (or at least monitoring) various magical beasts, all of which were endemic to rather exotic habitats.  It appeared that the locale of Mr. Guilford's current breed of attention was no exception.

            Thalia eyed the bird, which appeared to be some sort of a cross between a pelican, hummingbird, and lizard.  If Thalia, Lily, and Karen looked startled by the strange appearance of this scaly whatsit, Hannah seemed utterly blasé about the fact that her mail had been delivered to her by a nebulous half-breed.

            "Er, Hannah?" asked Thalia once she had recovered her wits.  "What is that thing?"

            "Oh, I don't know," replied Hannah offhandedly.  "Just some other creature my father is supposedly domesticating."

            Apparently, Hannah was very accustomed to visits by queer species.  And it seemed that she wasn't about to divulge the habitat of the rare kind of bird.  She let the strange winged creature drink out of her goblet and then sent it off with the exodus of owls.  It flew rather uneasily, leaning on its left side.  Lily noticed that this was because one wing was slightly larger than the other.

            Curious though she was to know more about Mr. Guilford's life in the wild, she knew that it was none of her business.  She shrugged and opened her letter, which turned out to be the weekly note from her mother, letting her in on all of the scoop from back home, which was generally as bland as shopping lists to the monthly games of Mah Jong over tea.  Lily always read them happily, not because of their "gripping" content, but simply because it was her mother who had written them.  

            She loved her parents more than anyone else in the entire world.  To the ordinary onlooker, they were the typical married couple.  But Lily knew better.  She was constantly astounded by her father's bottomless pit of knowledge.  The conversations between the two of them at the dinner table usually wound up involving something along the lines of Socialism and Capitalism or the benefits of tea versus coffee.  Lily's mother never joined in, but always commended her on her sharp wit, and she never failed to try and reconcile any differences between her two daughters, no matter how futile her attempts proved to be.  That was what Lily admired most about her mother – her insuperable strength.  No matter what obstacle life threw at the Evans family, her mother accepted it without a blink of an eye and immediately resolved to get through it.  

            Lily didn't know how she could have coped with her Cormagnus powers all these years if it hadn't been for her parents.  They were always there to give her a reassuring word and to confide in.  They had helped her to calm down whenever she was on the verge of bursting into a fit of tears or a flare of anger.  They, along with Dumbledore, were her source of encouragement and inspiration.

            She glanced down the table at Sirius Black.  She had always considered him to be the last person she would ever even consider pitying, but she found herself doing just that nonetheless.  

            She didn't know exactly what went on within the Black household, but according to Thalia, it wasn't pleasant.  In fact, this past summer the familial situation had gotten so argumentative and intolerable, that Sirius had left and moved in with James Potter.  

            Lily couldn't imagine that despite Sirius's rambunctious countenance, he seemed to be so plainly unaffected by the fact that his family had disowned him. 

            She sighed and turned back to her letter, smiling.  She was so unbelievably lucky.

            Down the Gryffindor table, Sirius Black was oblivious to the fact that he was object of the pity of one Lily Evans.  Truthfully, he felt more alive and free than ever before.

            Or at least, that was how it appeared to James Potter, who was thoroughly puzzled by such displays of apathy on the part of his best friend.  Had he not been brooding for practically the entire summer save the week before Hogwarts began?  

            "…and I'm running frightfully low on Stink Pellets, so what say it we take a little unscheduled trip to Hogsmeade on Saturday?"

            "Padfoot," Remus, always the logical one began, "weren't you just saying a few weeks ago that you had an enormous stock of Dungbombs laid away in your truck?"

            "Of course I did, dear Moony, but those are _Dungbombs_ not _Stink Pellets._  The lovely aromas of the two are completely different.  Now would you want a hallway smelling like horse stool instead of skunk?  I think not."

            "Fine," Remus sighed.  

            "Me too," James agreed.  "I could use a few hours of adventuring."

            Sirius grinned gleefully.  "Ooh, I'm corrupting the Headboy."

            Peter laughed.  Remus shifted slightly in his seat.

            James noticed Remus's reaction.  He leaned next to him so that only he could hear.  "Come on, a little trip to Hogsmeade never hurt anyone else."

            Remus nodded slowly, and raised his eyes to meet James's.  They locked for a second, an invisible flash of understanding passing between them.  They had come to a mutual agreement, although James knew that while the end conclusion they had both arrived at was the same, their means of arrival to that conclusion were completely different.  

While Remus had assumed that James had wanted to go to Hogsmeade for some time, but hadn't because of him, and was now justifying his excursion, James knew that that wasn't the case.  In all truth be told, he hadn't really been in the mood for the great pranks that had made them infamous at Hogwarts.  He had come to realize that the tricks he had so thoughtlessly executed in the past could be potentially harmful.  The reason he was going to Hogsmeade and taking part in the little schemes his friends had concocted wasn't because he had missed the pranks themselves, but because he felt significantly absent of the bonding the foursome used to have over a good detention.  True, there would be a slight possibility of getting caught in Hogsmeade, but no one would be able to accurately accuse him of doing anything dangerous.  He would have a nice, safe afternoon with his friends, something he had sorely missed.

            "Excellent!" Sirius proclaimed.  "I've got a plan all worked out.  You see, first we're going to-"

            James allowed his eyes to wander over to Maryanne Thorton, a fourth-year who was in the middle of reading the Daily Prophet.  He noticed something on the back of the page she was reading, and growing very interested, leaned over to ask if he could borrow the paper.

            "Sure," she said timidly, blushing a bit.  

            "So then, we give that old cat a good kick in the – James!  Are you even listening to my brilliant plots to outsmart Filch's officious feline?"

            James didn't answer.  He just began reading the article.

            Remus read over his shoulder.  "Did you know her?"

            James nodded.  "What is it?" Peter asked.

            James held up his hand while he finished reading.  Then he looked up, a puzzled expression on his face.  "It's an obituary.  That's that old lady I was telling you about.  The one with the broken ankle."  He pointed to a picture of a smiling, wrinkled face.

            "She was ninety-three years old," James told them, his eyes skimming the article.  "Name of Hortensia Platt.  Attended Hogwarts in Hufflepuff, worked as assistant to the head of the Improper Use of Magic office, went on a three-hour tour somewhere in the east and was never heard from again until two days ago, when she was checked in to St. Mungo's by none other than Dumbledore himself.  Says she died of poor blood circulation and plain old age."

            Peter whistled.  "Wow.  Do you know what she wanted?  From Dumbledore, that is."

            James shook his head.  "No idea.  She just kept saying she needed to speak to him right away.  Didn't even want to stop off at the Hospital Wing."  He glanced at the picture of Hortensia Platt, who was waving energetically at him, basking in the sunlight of some unknown desert.  "It's a shame.  Madam Pomphrey probably could have helped her."

            Remus stared at the photograph for a moment longer, and then furrowed his brow pensively.  "Seems like she was just holding out long enough to tell Dumbledore whatever it is she needed to tell him.  I don't think there was anything you could have done, Prongs."

            James nodded slowly, trying to shove aside the feelings of guilt that were slowly consuming him.  It wasn't his fault.  Hortensia Platt had told him she didn't want to go to the Hospital Wing.  How was he to know that she would be sent to St. Mungo's that night?

            Sirius, oblivious to James's attempts at settling his self-reproach, shrugged and poured some ketchup onto his scrambled eggs.  "Sorry, mate.  Maybe planning Mrs. Norris's oh so gruesome demise with me might take your mind off things."  He missed the look admonition that Remus shot in his direction.  

*   *   *

            It was another typical Transfiguration lesson.  Professor McGonagall had tersely taken roll call, before proceeding to write rather complicated notes on the board.  The entire class was up and alert, copying them down.  Lily Evans was sitting up in her chair, perfectly straight-backed and proper looking.  Sirius Black was alternating between taking notes and drawing frighteningly lifelike pictures of their professors in highly painful positions in the margin of his scroll.  Peter was watching Sirius's drawing.  Remus was trying to listen to Professor McGonagall and poke Sirius in the ribs with his quill at the same time.  All Ravenclaws were attentive; all Hufflepuffs' faces were screwed up in concentration.  All Slytherins were at the back of the room, some sniggering, some idly staring at the ceiling, and some diligently hanging on to the professor's every word.

            Everything was perfectly normal – except for the fact that this time, James Potter didn't understand the lesson.

            It wasn't that he wasn't capable of performing the spells correctly.  It was just that the theory behind them made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

            "…like so.   Within two weeks, I expect every pupil in this room to be able to properly Conjure a gerbil that is fully in possession of every one of its organs.  As you have already studied Vanishing spells, there should be no reason why this should be extraordinarily difficult for any one of you.  Granted, Conjuring spells are a bit more complex, but nothing anyone in this room should be incapable of grasping.   Now the first step is – yes, Mr. Potter?"

            James, who had just raised his hand, began to ask what had been on his mind.  "Excuse me, Professor, but I am not exactly sure I fully understand where the gerbil, or whatever is it that we're Conjuring, comes from."

            "Pardon me?"

            James sat up straight in his chair, only vaguely aware of the eyes that turned from parchment and blackboard to stare at him amazedly.

            "Well, everything has to come from somewhere.  It's science.  So, I guess what I'm trying to ask is, where does it come from?"

            "Where does what come from, Mr. Potter?"

            "The gerbils, or coffee, or whatever I'm Conjuring."

            Professor McGonagall straightened and stared at him over her square spectacles.  Her voice was very matter-of-fact.  "This is magic, Mr. Potter. The item, as well as the magic required to form it, comes from within you, as does the magic necessary for every spell you will cast throughout your entire life.  That is the basic idea behind witchcraft and wizardry, Mr. Potter.  Surely you knew that."

            "Of course, Professor," said James, unrelenting.  "But the magical substance inside of a wand creates a magical power, or an energy force of some kind that is strong enough to make something float, or light up a room.  It's as though a wand works on wind power or something like that.  But Conjuring something out of thin air is just defying every law of science.  Something can't just be created out of nothingness.  Even a dragon's heartstring isn't powerful enough to do away with the laws of science.  It just isn't possible."

            Professor McGonagall's mouth was going very thin.  Clearly she wasn't used to being interrogated.  "Well, Mr. Potter.  You seem to be forgetting about Vanishing spells in your scientific analysis."  It was a bit difficult to catch the subtle sarcasm in her voice.  "According to your theory that matter can neither be created nor destroyed, even by magic which has existed since the beginning of time, before these theories were even fabricated, it would be possible to transport a substance over an extended distance.  Correct?"

            "Yes, but-" 

            "And therefore, one could accurately assume that if one were to Conjure up a certain substance, say a gerbil, it will be likely that that gerbil would be the very same one that was previously Vanished."

            "Well, yes, but-" 

            "And by that theory, it is very clear that by performing a spectacular feat of magic, it would not only be a demonstration of the powerful forces within ourselves that by which their very nature defy Muggle science, but it would also be congruous with your belief that something can't be created from nothingness."

            She stared at James with a slight gleam of triumph.  He could hear some sniggering in the back of the room, undoubtedly from those who were more than pleased that Professor McGonagall had picked apart every argument that James had had.  Those people, however, soon ceased their sneering when James's hand rose once again into the air defiantly.

            Professor McGonagall hadn't noticed, as she was once again facing the blackboard, drawing a diagram of a gerbil's anatomy.  "You will notice please, the number of whiskers on each individual gerbil you are working with so that you will be able to picture in your minds the gerbils exactly as they really are.  It wouldn't do very well to suddenly have a twitching hair lying on your desk.  Not that some of you wouldn't be able to find something rather amusing to do with it, but – what is it, Mr. Potter?"

            She had spun around again and addressed him with an exasperated expression.

            "Excuse me, Professor, but I was just curious.  If everything must come from somewhere, since not even a magic wand can create something from nothing, then where did the first Conjured object come from?"

            Professor McGonagall's lips went very thin.  "What did you say, Mr. Potter?"

            "Well," said James sincerely, his eyes steadily focused on the slightly ruffled teacher in front of him.  "Everything has to come from somewhere.  So when the first wizard Conjured something, where did it come from?"

            Only someone of the most extreme clairvoyance would notice the slight blanching of the professor's face and the faintly confused expression on her face.  They were only subtly visible for a moment, because she soon regained her composure and addressed the classroom.

            "A very good question, Mr. Potter.  Should anyone like to delve into this matter further to answer this question for extra credit, he or she may do so."

            She then turned her back to the class of students conclusively and continued with her lesson.

            Sirius elbowed James in the ribs.  "Nice going, Prongs.  Don't think I've ever seen a student get McGonagall bamboozled."  He grinned and proceeded to draw a stick figure strongly resembling the Transfiguration teacher with the body of a hinkypunk.

            James turned to look at the faces of his classmates, which were all conveniently turned in his direction.  He raised an eyebrow at them as if to tell them that nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.  He had merely been a student asking the teacher a question.  Most got the hint and returned to their concentration on the lesson or their states of stupor.  

            Except for one.  Lily Evans was staring at him.  But the look she wore on her face wasn't one of incredulity, nor was it one of amazement or mockery.  If anything it was – confusion?  James tore his gaze away from her inquisitive one and held his head high.  Why on earth would he make anyone, least of all that know-it-all Evans, confused?  

*   *   *

            Lily was seated in her usual armchair a short distance away from the blazing flames in the fireplace.  Her back was to the raucous Common Room, so as not to be disturbed as she worked quickly through her considerably sized mound of homework.  She knew that as a Prefect and certainly as Head Girl she should have been keeping an eye on things, but she always worked efficiently; in no time at all she would be finished with her work and free to take up her lovable role as Gryffindor Resident Killjoy.  

            She picked up her textbook to look up the dates of the Gooberick Gremlin Gathering when Thalia plopped herself down onto a nearby sofa, wearing a short brown wig and sucking on a Prune Pop, not noticing that her skin was gradually becoming more and more wrinkled.  "Hey, Lily.  Why don't you join in the festivities?"

            Lily looked up from her sloppy scroll.  "What? Festivities?"

            Thalia threw up her arms in mock admonition.  "Honestly, child.  When there is work to be done and assignments to be given in, all the world halts.  Seriously, Lil.  I don't believe you didn't hear it.  Sirius popped open a keg of Butterbeer and a bunch of fourth-years proclaimed it a holiday."

            Lily flipped through the pages of her textbook, trying to locate the topic of Elf-Induced Sabotage.  "Oh really, now?  And what pray tell are we celebrating?"

            Thalia looked thoughtful.  "I'm not sure."  She turned around and hollered at the thick throng of partiers.  "Hey!  You!  What are we celebrating?"

            A tall second-year by the name of Bill Weasley shouted back.  "I think we're celebrating the first celebration of the school year!"

            "Thanks!"  Thalia turned back to Lily.  "Well, there you have it."

            Lily smiled in spite of herself.  "Maybe I'll take a piece of candy, but I need to finish this first."  She pushed her spectacles up her nose and bent her head down over her nearly completed essay.

            Thalia leaned over to see what exactly was so important that it would keep her friend out of the house merriment.  "History of Magic?  Why on earth are you still taking that?  That man is the most boring creature alive!"

            Lily muffled a grin.  It wasn't right for her to voice her agreement, even though she did think that Professor Binns was the antithesis of a mental stimulator.  His voice was dull and monotonous, least of all to mention that he could never quite remember any of his students' names, regardless of the number of years they had been in his class.   He still referred to Lily as "Miss Edwin."  He even looked remarkably boring and lackluster.  His eyes were a blank shade of gray, as was his hair.  He always dressed in drab, colorless robes, which hung on his thin frame limply.  Even his skin had tinges of gray and beige, as though he had been doused in a Color-Removing Potion as a small child.  No, Professor Binns certainly was not the most exciting of characters at Hogwarts.

            " 'Those who do not learn from the past are doomed to repeat it,' " quoted Lily.

            "Yeah, grinned Thalia.  "Pity those goblins never learned history in school.  It would have saved them a lot of energy on rebellions."   

            Lily raised an eyebrow.  "Mm hmm."  She turned back to her essay, giving Thalia the cue to leave Lily to finish her assignment.

            Which wasn't all that easy, considering that once Lily had been interrupted she had a bit of difficulty rechanneling her brain into study mode.  And the echoing of the boisterous din in the Common Room didn't help either.  She enclosed herself in soundproof bubble and tried to clear her mind.  

            She wasn't quite at par with her former level of concentration, but she found her essay suitable enough, save for her atrociously sloppy handwriting.  It wasn't really her handwriting that was the problem; she could write impeccably if she had the time or patience, but given that she had neither of those things when it came to perfecting her cursive, she felt that she had to be content with a less than flawless script if it meant finishing more quickly.  

            She read through her paper, making red marks here and there.  She then performed a special Legibility Charm she had invented the previous year.  

            Finally satisfied with her work, she placed her spectacles in her breast pocket, released herself from the confines of her sound bubble, and immediately thrust her palms to her ears compulsively.  She had chosen the most untimely moment possible to hear again, as a group of fourth years had managed to smuggle a band of Cornish Pixies into the Common Room and were currently jumping on the sofas and armchairs trying to retrieve the belongings that the little devils had so conveniently hung from the crevices in the stone ceiling.  

            And so, much to her chagrin, Lily spent the next twenty minutes levitating items back to ground level and comforting petrified first years whom she was sure would have nightmares about little blue men for years to come.  

            When the commotion had subdued and she at last finished consoling a hysterical Miranda Binghamton, she looked around the Common Room, surveying the damage.  Not all that much had been ruined.  A few pieces of furniture had been rearranged at odd angles, and some in odd formations, but nothing a quick Refurbishing Charm couldn't fix (another one of Lily's handy discoveries).  There were candy wrappers littered in certain portions of the carpet where there had been tournaments of Exploding Snap, but aside from that, the room seemed to be pretty much as it usually was.  But those pixies…it was a good thing no one ever noticed the high ceiling.  The damage they had done was beyond repair. 

            She lifted her head as the portrait opened and Sirius Black walked in, bottle of butterbeer in hand.  "Never fear!  The butterbeer is – oh, hello, Lily."

            She folded her arms across her chest.  "Mr. Black."

            "So," he started, trying to hide the bottle behind his back, "I see you've come out of your bubble."

            "Yes, Mr. Black.  You see, surprisingly enough, some people actually do homework in the Common Room, rather than encouraging younger and more innocent children to break into Professor Kettelburn's office and swipe a cage-full of fully grown, hyperactive Cornish Pixies, who derive pleasure from wreaking chaos and hanging valuable possessions, some of which are irreplaceable, from the ceiling, which, by the way, is a thousand years old and is now permanently damaged."

            She never raised her voice, but her penetrating green stare was enough to unnerve even the likes of Sirius Black.

            He looked up at the ceiling, and ignoring the large cracks and spots of black tar that had been spewed all over the stone surface, commented, "Well, it certainly adds character to the room."

            Thalia came down the stairs of the dormitory looking around the somewhat chaotic room.  She then noticed Lily and Sirius in the corner, and understood immediately why Lily looked so reproachful and why Sirius was wearing his face of cherubic innocence. 

            Lily hadn't realized that Thalia had come in.  "Yes, Mr. Black.  You would think so.  I, however, would beg you to reconsider before endeavoring to further corrupt the students who look up to you as a role model, for some reason unbeknownst to me or anyone else of sound mind."

            She then turned around, rolled her eyes at Thalia with exasperation, and walked straight-backed up the stairs to her dormitory.

            Sirius and Thalia stared after her.

            "Is she always this charming?" he asked her.

            "Just when she feels threatened," Thalia answered.

            "Threatened?"

            Thalia turned to Sirius.  "I asked her a similar question once.  That was her answer."

            Sirius looked puzzled.  "Threatened from what?"

            Thalia shrugged.  "I didn't really think about it at the time.  She always says weird things.  I just figured it was one of those things that she alone understood."  

            Sirius stood for a moment.  "Well, I don't think it pays right now to try and figure out the way the mind of our dear Head Girl works.  I'd best get to sleep before the House Elves get here to clean up the mess.  If I look at another House Elf, alive or stuffed, I think I'm going to gag."

*   *   *

            The firelight cast an eerie dimness in the squalid chamber, illuminating Lily's hair, making it appear to be a vibrant shade of copper.  She squeezed the woman's sweaty hand.  She could feel her own perspiration and tension mingling with the pain of the woman.  

            Lily placed her other palm on her mother's forehead, brushing the sweaty wisps of blond hair out of her pale face.  Her mother looked so much older in the glow of the flames.  Despite the shadows covering her face, the creases in it were more noticeable than they ever had been before, lines of worry and anxiety, but also of hope and determination.

            Mrs. Evans' breathing began to get more sporadic, as though she was gasping to retain every ounce of oxygen still left in her frail body.  

            Lily propped her mother's head further up to chest, helping to support her, helping her breath.  Her mother gripped her hand, and pressed it down to the cold stone floor.  Lily winced at the pain of the jagged rock digging into her skin, but didn't cry out.  Her mother needed her. 

            Mrs. Evans took a painfully strained intake of air, and spoke to her daughter.  "Lily," she whispered weakly.

            Lily brushed a thumb across her mother's profile.  "Yes, Mum.  I'm here.  Don't worry.  He can't hurt you anymore."  She felt tears forming in her eyes.  _I mustn't cry now,_ she told herself.  _I have to be strong for Mum._

            Her mother shook her head and coughed, spitting up blood, blood to mirror the warm red liquid oozing out of a wound in her chest.  "No, Lily.  My time has come," she rasped.  Lily shook her head.  "No, Mum.  You're going to be fine."

            Her mother wouldn't listen.  "Lily, don't be afraid.  You have to be strong.  It's not your fault.  None of this is your fault.  Remember that.  Don't give in.  Don't…"

            She stopped speaking, and with a last breath of life, she was still.  

            The tears flowed freely now, making Lily's vision watery and blurry.  "No," she whispered.  "Come back, Mummy.  I never meant for this to happen.  Come back, Mummy."

            She took her mother's limp body and pressed it against her, weeping for the woman who had raised her, who had taught her strength and endurance, who had always been there as a beacon of hope.  

            A large black dog nuzzled itself against her shoulder, staring at the lifeless body of Mrs. Evans.  A luminous beam of light seemed to radiate from its bulbous yellow eyes, consuming the corpse in an ethereal incandescent glow.  The light grew brighter and brighter, and then it was gone, and so was the body of Lily's mother.

            Lily covered her face in her hands, collapsed on the hard stone, and wept mercilessly, cursing herself and the one who had dumped this torturous misfortune upon her and everyone she loved.  She felt the sadness and despair flowing through her veins relentlessly, empowering her.  She didn't notice the footsteps clopping towards her, nor the howls of hundreds of dogs, moaning and sharing in her misery.

            She shook back and forth, vibrating as the river of helplessness flowed down her face.  When she looked up to the Heavens to ask what she could have possibly done to deserve this, she saw not the circular ceiling she had expected to see, but something far more terrible.

            She found herself gazing into a pair of blank white eyes, eyes belonging to the creature, to the thing, to the most terrible creation she ever could have dreaded to behold.

            The leathery black body, the reptilian face, the emaciated form of a forsaken, skeletal horse, the webbed wings unfolded, poised to take flight.

            It was a thestral, the sign of something that Lily considered to be far worse than death itself.  It symbolized the witnessing of the loss of a human life, the act of seeing someone's heart stop its beating, lungs cease their breathing, and feelings going numb.  

            She had just seen her mother die, and now here was the proof of it.

            Lily Evans' eyes flew open as she sat upright in her bed, panting, gripping her sweat-soaked sheets tightly with white knuckles.  Her face was still wet from the unstoppable flow of subliminal tears.  She tried in vain to steady her erratic breathing, to return her racing heartbeat to normal.  But it was no use.  The images of her dead mother's body hanging limply from her arms were too freshly branded in her mind.  And she hadn't forgotten those mournful howls, and that portentous serpentine face, with those blank empty eyes.  Those eyes…

Blankness.

Absolute nothingness.

The way a life's steady flame could just be extinguished.  Without any warning. 

And suddenly turn to blankness.

Nothingness.

That's what her mother always felt was synonymous with giving up.  The loss of the will to live and to risk and to journey forever onward, hurtling through the rapids, tearing through the forests, sojourning through the desert of seemingly endless sand.  That was what it meant to abandon life: to give in to emptiness, to be no one, to be nonexistent.

            Lily closed her eyes and inhaled slowly through her nostrils.  _In through the nose, out_ _through the mouth.  In through the nose, out through the mouth._  She breathed spurts of air out of her pursed lips.  She brushed her loose sleep-tossed curls behind her back and opened her eyes.

            She tried to draw comfort from the moonlit loft, bathed in a soft glow from the full, round orb radiating its light through her window above her bed.  The scarlet bed hangings were dappled with shadows, creating a winding web of intricate patterns on the rippled sheets.

            She took one deep breath, and pulled back the curtains in one dreaded sweep.  Everything was just as it should have been.  No one else had drawn their curtains that night.  Thalia was curled into a ball, her face completely covered in her yellow coils.  Hannah daintily lay on her bed, her chest rising and falling peacefully in rhythmic steadiness, looking absolutely elegant and regal.  Karen was sprawled out across her mattress, arms and legs sticking out of it.  Her thick black hair glinted red and was gathered up around one side of her face, which wore a stubborn pout.

            Karen and Thalia's discarded laundry from the previous day was still strewn about the floor sloppily.  The numerous picture frames were placed upon all four dressers, their hosts snoozing peacefully in their casings.  

            The room held an aura of tranquility and harmony.  Surprisingly, Lily had not anticipated this.  For a moment after she threw back her curtains, she had half-expected to see the room in absolute chaos and to find her friends sobbing for the misery inflicted upon them all.  But it had only been a dream.  Albeit a terrible and foreboding one.

            What about that dream?  What did that mean?  

            Lily rubbed her temples in a clockwise motion.  She tried further to exorcise the images of that night's nightmare from her memory, but each time, she was absorbed by a feeling of the ultimate sadness and sense of helplessness.

            She rose out of bed and pulled one of her long black robes on over her flannels.  She rummaged through her trunk, looking for the pass Dumbledore had given her for any late-night (or early morning) outings to her special room.  She supposed just the fact that she was Head Girl would be enough this year to warrant a nocturnal wandering, but given that Filch was the one patrolling the corridors, she took the pass with her anyway.

            She slid into her slippers and, shivering, took her wand and silently slipped out of the doorway and through the portrait hole to the corridor beyond it.  

            It was a chilly September night, especially in the middle of the night in a drafty castle.  She uttered a Warming Charm and then lit her wand.  In the dim patches rippling off of the stony walls, she was reminded of the half-shadowed face of her dead mother.  She tried to push the image aside, forcing the wet droplet in the corner of her eye to revert back into her head.  She would feel better soon.  It was just a little bit closer.

            She wasn't actually sure where she was going at any given point in time.  It seemed as though her legs were leading her, and she was simply following their guidance.  She walked along the familiar path, and although her destination was a positive, welcoming one, and although most would have felt the peaceful silence of the castle to be very comforting, at that moment, everything to Lily seemed to be a sign of foreboding.

            She found herself in front of a large sculpture of Orpheus at his lyre.  "_Abbandono,_"she muttered.  

            A few notes of a harp were heard, almost as though the wind were carrying them on a breeze.  Orpheus's body shifted slightly to the right, revealing a large mahogany door, and a knob embedded with tiny, delicate crystals.  She pushed it open, and her heart grew hopeful as the room was bathed in her wandlight.

            She felt her eyes going bright and she beheld what to her was the most beautiful thing in the world.   

            She reached out a hand to touch the gleaming mahogany Steinway grand piano.  The small shaft of yellow light beaming from her wand reflected against the glossily polished wood, creating glowing patches on the walls and ceiling.  She pushed the cover back and pressed a finger down on an ivory key, creating the beautiful pitch that soothed her soul.

            "_Lumos fax,_" she muttered.  Her wandlight grew brighter; it seemed as though the little piece of wood was not a wand but a torch, giving fuel to an intensely radiant flame that illuminated the entire chamber with a dull glow, casting eerie flickers of shadows along the keys, making them appear to Lily to be even more alluring and beckoning.

            She sat down on the wooden bench and placed her slippered right foot on the brass pedal.  Then, without warning, the compulsion hit her.  The images of her nightmare swam before her and she knew nothing other than that she had to rid herself of the sadness and pain.  She pressed her fingers down onto the keys forcefully, creating a full yet graceful sound.

            And then she began to play.

            She felt rather than controlled her fingers as they flew across the keys, leaving behind a trail of melodious echoes and transcendent blends of sound and ardent feeling.  She moved her foot up and down, pressing the pedal, making the tones echo on top of one another, building the foundations of the tower, upon which each separate timbre rose above its predecessent layer.  The reverberations resonated off of the walls, filling her ears with the voice of the song.

            The image of the reptilian face, those emaciated flanks, and the blank eyes evanesced from the insides of her closed eyelids.  It was trickling through a filter in her mind, the drops flowing down through her fingertips and into the keys.  With the nightmare ran her anxieties, fears, and pressures.  Nothing else mattered at the moment, except that she was there at her piano, creating and becoming one with the musical life-sustaining force that had kept her going for all of her years.

            She poured her very soul into the keys, feeling rather than hearing, as the music's purity and richness deepened and crescendoed.  She swayed back and forth, succumbing to the majesty and emotion that was filling her ears.  As the resounding melodies shifted and swirled, she inhaled deeply.  Her mind was a whirlwind of color; as the tunes reached their heights of intensity, so did the rainbows.  Shades of maroon twisted with arcs of magenta, blending together in a veil of scarlet.  A small glow of shimmering jade snaked into the crimson, mingling with hues of sunshine yellow and violet.  

A cool breeze from the open window blew in gently, carrying with it the harmonies of the galaxies and heavenly angels.  There was a burst of emerald, and the stars danced their intricate steps, flawlessly twirling in their orbits with their sophisticated and dizzying footwork.

            And that was how she sat, in her own world of musical nirvana, releasing herself of her pain and worries, thinking only of the beautiful richness that the world was capable of offering if only one knew where to venture.

            The calm that was her music had left behind a tranquil air, creating a still atmosphere free of trepidation or burden.  Lily sat on her bed staring out of the window pensively.

            It was a moderately clear night.  Several small tufts of fluffy gray cloud scattered the night sky.  The round, full moon shone from where it was half-concealed by a cluster of airy cotton, its rays escaping from its thin, insubstantial veil.  The stars sparkled equally as bright.  Each individual orb twinkled sporadically, and yet, it looked as though they were all pooling together collaborate efforts to choreograph their inspirational dance.

            Lily smiled and pulled her robes tightly around her as the thrill of the harmonious panoply of stars shot up her spine.  It was in times like these when being a Cormagnus definitely had its advantages.  And while Lily generally tried not to think about her subhuman anomaly, she was sometimes thankful that she had this special ability, the capability to pour out all worries through her fingertips.  She didn't know how others managed keeping everything bottled up inside.  _Although,_ she reasoned, _they certainly don't have to worry about committing a genocidal temper tantrum._

            She glanced around her room.  Regular use over the past six years had certainly added a few of her own personal touches.  The design of the chamber was very plain; like many of the Hogwarts classrooms, this one was walled with stone, and the windows set in the thick rock were wide and square.  In her fourth year, Lily had decided to redecorate.  She had hung copper drapery on the walls to give the room a warmer atmosphere, and had lined the window frame with a copper border that complimented the purple tones in her piano very nicely.  

            Of course, it wasn't actually _her _piano.  The one she had at home was very well made and it had a nice sound, but the quality was not nearly as full, as orchestral, as the one in Hogwarts.

            Dumbledore had showed her to her chamber shortly after that first meeting on her first day of school.  He had explained that the piano hadn't been used in over seventy years; the Muggle Studies professor at the time had been smashed into a double bass by a very forceful (and extremely faulty) Levitation Charm, and had been confined to the Hospital Wing for several weeks before the faculty mediwitch had been able to get rid of the rumbling echoes bouncing off the inside of his skull.  Narrowly avoiding a lawsuit, the school governors had claimed that weighty musical instruments were safety hazards and were prohibited from use (a decision, which to Lily upon her first news of it, was complete balderdash and simply an unwarranted pretext to excuse students' and professors' uncontrollable clumsiness).  The piano had been collecting dust for quite some time, and Dumbledore had honestly noted that he could think of no better person than she to tune it back into shape.

            Thus, the room that Lily had called her own for six years had become her sanctuary, and eventually her Head Girl's quarters. Generally, the Head Boy and Girl's dorms were located one next to the other, so as to be convenient for meetings, small squabbles, and the like, but Dumbledore had told her quite rightly in the letter of notification that she had received in regards to her Headgirlship that he was certain she would rather have no other room other than her own.  

She had been quite pleased when she had poked her head into the room on the first day of classes.  A bed had been moved into the room just below the window; as she had a passionate penchant for stargazing, this was quite convenient.  Several of her robes had been brought to her room as well.  Her trunk had still remained in the dorm with her fellow Gryffindors.  While it was certainly peaceful to have her own quite chamber, there was still that special sisterhood that stemmed from living with her three friends that she couldn't bear to part from.    

This room, her room, held an entirely different significance and essence.  This was the room where she was free to let her soul run free. It was her haven, her escape.  In her first few days at Hogwarts she could be found there faithfully every night, releasing herself of the pent-up tears of homesickness.  As the years passed, she had learned to better control herself, and save for the infamous occurrence at the lakeside at the end of fifth year, she had had no major slip-ups.  Granted, occasionally she would shed a teardrop or two, but in retrospect, she was overall very proud of herself.  

            But she didn't know how on earth she would have been able to make these same claims had she not been able to make music.  The very thought of the melodies dancing through the air thrilled her.  The capability to let everything run free, rampant among the stars, floating amongst the seraphim and nephilim, free of human access…  That was music.

            Lily pulled her knees in closer to her chest as she gazed out of her window.  The branches of the trees of the forest beyond rustled slightly, and wide, almost visible eddies of warm wind blew the fallen autumn leaves around in wide spirals.  A deer poked its head out from behind a green bush; it turned its head from side to side and sprinted off toward the forest in long, even strides.

            As if the deer had given her the cue that her time of reminiscence was through, she lay back on her bed, closed her eyes, and fell into a deep sleep once more, this time with the images of the dancing stars and the colors that were life and music filling her dreams.  

*   *   *

            Far away from Lily Evans' bedroom, atop a green hill moist with pre-dawn dew, a tall figure robed in black stood beside a lonely grave.  Beyond the hill was a dim view of the silhouetted town of Little Hangleton, which was quiet in a nocturnal slumber.  A lone gray cloud drifted in front of the full moon, obscuring the epitaph of the tombstone.

            The robed man pulled up his black sleeve, revealing a forearm of taut gray skin, tattooed with the image of a morbid skull with a snake protruding as a tongue.  He pressed his forefinger to the image and a low hissing escaped, a combination of the voice of the fearsome serpent and the sizzle of burning flesh.  The man barely flinched; pain was merely a manifestation of fear, a contortion of what a human would like to believe is an expression of consciousness, a direct result of physical awareness.  This specter knew better.  To reveal one's self, to succumb to the frivolities of the interaction between receptors and brain, was far too mortal, too human.

            And speaking of human…

            A hooded figure had just Apparated with a loud _crack_ to stand directly in front of the grave.  He knelt low and kissed the hem of the phantom's robes, whispering, "You called, my Lord?"

            "Rise," the Dark Lord said icily.  The coldness in his voice was matched by a brief gust of wind that blew across the hill.  The clouds parted and the moon was visible once more.  The Death Eater's shadowy hood rustled, and the moonlight glinted off of his several long golden locks.

            The Death Eater adjusted his hood and mask and raised himself up, though not nearly to full height.  He kept his head bowed, as though it wouldn't even cross his mind nor that of anyone else to even attempt to be as high and lofty as his Master.

            "How many new recruits do you have for me tonight, Malfoy?  Your current number is staggeringly low.  I am beginning to think that the problem lies not with the subjects themselves but with the missionary."

            Voldemort's red eyes stared into the slits of Malfoy's mask, holding his gaze.  The Death Eater did not back down.  "I apologize, My Lord.  The wariness of ministry officials has increased considerably.  It is becoming increasingly difficult to keep an eye out for those that appear to be on the right side, and even more tasking to successfully corner them and offer them a chance to serve My Lord.  I am ashamed, My Lord.  I know excuses are of no value."

            "Yes, Malfoy," Voldemort said pitilessly.  "I have heard this all before.  It is beginning to grow rather monotonous."  He took a small step forward.  "Do you know what is the one thing I detest most passionately in the entire realm of existence?"

            A menacing wind blew among the trees bordering the graveyard.  As the leaves rustled, they created patches of shadowy gray upon the Dark Lord's face, accenting those red cat-like slits.  Malfoy felt his heartbeat quicken, but stood his ground, unrelenting.

            "No, My Lord."  

            "The one thing, aside from muggles, who are by themselves in their entirely own category of my abhorrence, that disgusts me above all else is the very idea that one of my servants is not living up to their full potential."  His stare intensified.  "Do you know why that is, Malfoy?"

            "No, My Lord."

            Voldemort whipped around, robes swishing behind him.  He extended his long arms outward, as if embracing some invisible force of evil.  "Do you know what it is to have power, Lucius?" he asked in a booming voice.  "Power is not merely a proclamation of authority or influence.  It is a state of mind.  It is knowing that you are bound by no limitations, freedom from the jurisdiction of those who claim to rule you.  Power is might.  Might over mind, the ability to enter peoples' thoughts and dreams, to haunt them in their every waking moment, to possess over them an inexorable control merely by existing."

Voldemort whirled around and pointed a bony finger at his chest.  "I, Lucius, possess that control.  The wizarding world trembles at the very sound of my name.  The worst nightmare of nearly everyone in the magical community is to return home to find the mark of my supremacy hovering over their houses.  Destruction, devastation.  All necessary components of power.  Power is might.  Might is fear."

            Voldemort lowered his hand and whispered into the dank night air, his voice carried by the wind.  "For a Death Eater to doubt himself is to doubt my strength.  For a supposedly loyal servant of mine to fail to carry out my orders on the pretext and impression that he is 'not worthy' or 'unable' is an insult to both my intelligence and my authority.  My followers were handpicked.  I have chosen for my army only the elite whom I deem fit to serve my purposes.  I will not have them prove me wrong."

            Voldemort raised his head, red eyes blazing.  "To doubt one's own abilities is to lack strength, Malfoy.  It is to feel pathetic and undeserving.  He who is mighty, powerful, and indomitable, never doubts himself."  

            He leaned in very close to Malfoy's face.  The Death Eater could feel the malodorous stench of decay and evil of the Dark Lord's breath.  "You, Lucius Malfoy, are a disappointment to me.  You have such potential, such vigor.  You come from a prominent wizarding family.  You are cunning, sleek, and thirsty for influence.  You recognize pain for what it is – an inevitable part of existence.  You accept it and embrace it, knowing that with each blow, you become more tolerant of the unsuspecting and often devastating calamities that the sadistic Sisters of Fate will throw your way."  Voldemort was enunciating each point carefully, emphasizing them by slowly holding up one gaunt finger for every admirable asset of his servant.

            "You possess the qualities necessary for inheriting a portion of my future worldly gains, but the one thing that is holding you back is your pitiful lack of self-assurance."  He stood back and surveyed Malfoy with a look of mild disgust, and then of contemplation.  

            "Clearly, you are not cut out for ministry work.  You knowingly defied my orders, however remorseful it made you feel.  Weakness, Malfoy, is a terrible thing." 

            He removed his wand from within his black folds and twirled it between two very long fingers.  "Although, perhaps a slight alteration of agenda is necessary."

            Malfoy looked fearfully at the wand, but at the same time tried to mask his trepidation with a guise of curiosity.  He bowed his head.  "What am I to do, My Lord?"

            A cluster of gray storm clouds blew in front of the moon, casting eerie shadows from the stars along Voldemort's face.  The wind began to blow more fiercely, warning of an early autumn storm.  The Dark Lord's black robes whipped around his skeletal figure like rabid snakes.

            Voldemort paused, pensive.  "Apparently the Ministry is not well enough suited for you.  You shall try a different, and likely more effective approach."

            Malfoy raised his eyes.

            Voldemort continued.  "You will recruit the young.  They are more impressionable.  They easily succumb to the allure of greatness and power.  Yes, they will be fine servants."  He paused.  "Very well, Malfoy. You may rise.  You have a new mission.  I will inform you of the identities of our potential accomplices in several weeks' time.  Until that moment, I expect you to prepare yourself for the task you are set out to do.  Remember what I have taught you of weakness and dignity, Malfoy.  Set your mind on the proper course.  You have potential, as I have told you before.  Do not disappoint me again."

            Malfoy straightened his bent figure.  "Yes, My Lord."  He tightened the muscles in his shoulders and upper arms, preparing to Apparate.

            "Lucius?" Voldemort said as though as an afterthought.  "I do suppose you remember that I do not take it lightly when I am disappointed."  He twirled his wand once again and then raised it to the level of Malfoy's chest.

            The Death Eater's breathing quickened, and he prepared for the pain, the excruciating sensation of being pierced with scalding hot knives over every inch of his body.

            "Fortunately for you, Malfoy, I will let this one slide," Voldemort lowered his wand and inserted it back into his robes.  "Consider it a wedding present."

            He gave a high, cold cackle, ceremoniously waved his left hand in the air, and with a sickening _crack!_ and a small gust of wind, he was gone.

            So what do you think?  I hope it was worth the wait.  

            How did I do Voldemort?  That was undoubtedly the absolute hardest part of writing this chapter.  Of course, it probably didn't help that I wrote it in two days (that's very short; I only write before bed, so it's about an hour.), but I just wanted to get this thing posted already.  What do you think of him?  Rather Machiavellian, isn't he?

            I realized, after reading many other stories, that I should probably thank my individual reviewers.  So, here goes!

**Faith and Grace: **You were my first reviewer!  Thank you so much.  It was so exciting for me to have someone critique my work, and favorably at that!

**Lil K: **Does this count as 'more'?

**Snowlily: **J. K. Rowling?  Are you serious?  I was beaming for hours on end.  Thank you!

**Luv-jinxy: **I suppose that there might be a recording of Madam Trelawney's prophecy in the Department of Mysteries, but it's not such an integral part of my story, so believe what you will.  Thanks for your feedback on your opinion of my Tom Riddle.  The thanks go to one of my friends, who was one of the first to read this and told me to put in a little more of his emotions.  I resubmitted the chapter before anyone else could read it.  Meanwhile, my friend still has yet to review * hint hint *

**Isabel aka Moonlily: ** I was so excited when I got your review!  I need hardly remind you that your story is all over the internet and that I've found it recommended on no less than five websites, probably even more, but only five come to mind.  I'm so honored!

**The Stek: **So loyal!  You reviewed every chapter!  I suppose Lily's Cormagnus gift could have something to do with Harry's survival, but again, I'm not discussing the night in Godric's Hollow, so believe whatever you want.  It makes sense, when you think about it; I've been asked that question before.  From the way Dumbledore described that night to Harry in the first and fifth books, it seems as though love at that extent from anyone would have saved someone, but the whole Cormagnus bit fits in nicely.  Sure, I guess the answer is yes!

Yeah, James is settling a bit, but it's slow.  He's torn between loyalty to his friends and his position, which happened to have been dumped on him because of another friend.  So he's split three ways: stick with Sirius and Peter, honor Remus's sacrifice, or stand up for what I feel inside?  

Nope, wasn't Madam Trelawney, as you found out in this chapter.  If she was a great-great-grandmother in the forties, my guess is that she would be dead by this time.  But a good guess!

**Screaming Silence: **Oh, I was so touched!  Thank you so much.  You should really continue with your story.  If it's going to be anything like "I Am Lord Voldemort," (She took that story down; I wanted to cry) it'll definitely be a success.

**Koonelli:  **Thank you so much!  I was actually a bit surprised by those flashbacks myself.  They just sort of popped themselves in there.  

**Lilducky18: **I got so bubbly when I read your review!  Thank you!  You're right.  The title does seem to be someone unrelated to the plot, but I can assure you, it's not.  It so happened that the idea for "Music of the Night" popped into my head when I was playing it on the piano.  Don't worry, the reasons for my eccentricity will all be revealed in due time.  I don't think that time will be for a while, but it will come.

**Midnight-star13: **Ooh, yay!  Someone thinks I'm deep!  Not that I consider myself a shallow person.  Far from it, but poetic isn't usually a word I associate with myself.  Thank you!

**Eos Falcon:  **What can I say?  You are, as to be expected, a fantastic reviewer.  You've really given me things to think about.  As for my style, it's changing.  I'm not quite sure if it's doing that consciously or not; I kind of just type out quirky little sentences, sit back, say "Whoa," and leave them in.  I'm experimenting with different things.  I'm sure I'll find something eventually, and if not, s'okay.  It's the fun that counts!

I'm glad you could so accurately interpret the inner thoughts of my characters.  I guess I'm doing something right!  

As for being canan-y, it was totally a shower of luck.  I had my story pretty much mapped out.  I just happened to be fortunate that Lily and James didn't start dating until seventh year, and Snape's Worst Memory provided me with a good starting ground for their relationship.  I also lucked out on the color of James's eyes.  I was going to make them hazel anyway!

Thank you all for reading!  Please keep it up!


	6. Confusion's Mockery

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters that J. K. Rowling already has rights to. The copyright pages on the inside cover of the book state as much. I do, however, own all personalities (many of which are my own, but no one really needs to know that). The song towards the end of the chapter is a reference to Led Zeppelin's "Stairway to Heaven," only the BEST ROCK SONG OF ALL TIME!

4/29/05: I originally wrote out an excerpt from the song but has now has decided to be even more difficult than it already was and prohibit the use of lyrics in a work of fanfiction. bangs head Sometimes "it really makes me wonder…"

**Music of the Night**

**Chapter 6: Confusion's Mockery**

Remus Lupin rolled over on his side, wincing at the acute pain that shot through his lower ribcage. He glanced at the clock hanging over the night table by the side of the bed. It was almost time for Madame Pomphrey to come with her special salve that she expertly smoothed over his gashes and bruises every month.

He folded his arms over his chest and frowned at the white sheet enclosing his bed. The previous night had been a strange one. Granted, things never were quite normal when the full moon shone in the sky and he turned into a ferocious wolf, but this time had been quite different. He didn't know exactly how so; he never remembered his lupine experiences. But he had woken up with more cuts than was usual for a Hogwarts moon.

For the past two years, his friends had been there with him in the Shrieking Shack, preventing from doing himself too much damage. Last night, he supposed, he was simply much more vicious than usual, although he couldn't for the life of him figure out why. He just knew that when he had transformed back into human form, he convulsively wretched his previous night's dinner and was carried by James and Sirius straight to the Hospital Wing.

And aside from the fact that it was _he _who had just undergone a particularly gruesome and painful transformation, he did remember noticing that Sirius had looked rather forlorn, although as to the reason why he had no idea.

Remus himself had awoken from his unconscious state with a feeling in his stomach that he was sure quite mirrored the sickening churning that Sirius had been undoubtedly experiencing earlier, judging by their identical expressions, which Remus had noticed when he looked in the mirror.

He pulled the quilted covers over his shoulders and cradled his middle in his arms.

It wasn't so much a feeling of nausea. It was more like the aftereffects of misery. He could almost feel the remnants of salty tears on his lips, although he didn't know how on earth they had gotten there. He seemed to remember feeling despondent and alone in the world, as though no other creature on earth could possibly sympathize. He had experienced fear and horror, but in reaction to an unknown source. In the back of his mind it was as if he had actually been in that exact state of despair within the past 24 hours. The stone in the bottom of his stomach was not only due to the injuries caused by his own incisors; it was there because of something he had done, or because of something that had happened to him.

And it seemed as though it had affected Sirius too. What had gone on the night before? And why did Peter and James seem positively peachy? He made a mental note to ask Sirius later.

He scratched the side of his face where his cheek was sticky with drying blood. That particular cut didn't throb quite so much anymore; his facial bruises usually healed far faster than the ones spotting the rest of his body. Ironically enough, he rarely ever awoke from his transformations with a gashed cheek. Apparently, somewhere inside of the wolf was a subconscious voice telling it to bite everywhere where it hurt the most. Punishment for the foolish boy who, at the age of six, was so abysmally stupid to let himself get near a werewolf.

Remus heard footsteps on the white tiled floor coming toward him. His mind first jumped to the faces of his friends, but upon second thought, he realized that these footsteps were different. He had learned well enough over the years to control and properly utilize his canine hearing to recognize the contrasts between the footsteps of different individuals.

For instance, Sirius generally walked briskly and yet conspiratorially at the same time. His step had a slight bounce to it, but he pressed his feet down firmly and planted them there for a spell longer than was usual, as though he were scrutinizing every aspect of everyone about him.

Peter moved along in small, sporadic shuffles. His feet barely left the ground, and although he sounded rather bumbling, he in reality moved quite gracefully when among his friends. It was when he was intimidated or twitchy that his nerves caused his feet to jolt in awkward directions, making walking, or even standing next to him a danger in itself.

James, on the other hand…how _did_ James walk? He used to have a very defined strut ("I don't strut," James used to say. "I simply swagger with an extra dose of self-assurance."), noticeable by his far-apart steps and the shifting of his weight from foot to foot in rhythm with the pressure of his soles against the stone floors of the castle. Last year, his walk had been a bit more difficult to single out, as it was generally accompanied by the skips, trots, and prances of a throng of females, but it was there nonetheless, if not more so.

But this year, it was different. James still strode about Hogwarts gracefully and rhythmically, and his shoulders still swayed back and forth ever so slightly, but they seemed, if possible, to jut out farther than they had before. His steps were harder and more pronounced, and his hands swung from side to side in addition to the back-to-front motions he had previously called his own.

Not that Remus was all that surprised. James's ego was quite large enough to begin with; James himself would have been the first to admit it. And now he was Head Boy. Well, if his multifarious assets now included being titled number one in the class in addition to his former status of Quidditch captain, female magnet extraordinaire, and prankster supreme, why wouldn't he be a bit more pompous than usual?

This stream of thought was interrupted by a female voice that murmured his name from behind the curtain, "Remus?"

He turned his head toward the voice, leaning his gashed cheek against the linen sheets, and at the same time, hoisted the covers a bit further up his body so as to hide the nastier bruises that were clustered around his upper ribcage. "Come in," he called weakly.

Lily Evans stepped in from behind the hangings. She gasped when she saw him. "Oh, Remus! You look dreadful!"

He tried to look sarcastic, but the cut between his face and the sheet wouldn't allow it. "Thank you. It's nice to see you too."

"Ooh, sorry," Lily whispered embarrassedly as she pulled a chair up next to Remus's bed and plopped a rather large bag down on his night table with a loud _thunk!_ "It's just that you've never looked this bruised and beaten…" She suddenly looked a bit worried and leaned forward. "There's nobody hurting you, is there? Because if there is, it would certainly do you some good to report it to an authority. If you're not comfortable telling me about it, certainly you could let James Potter know what's going on; I'm sure he'd help-"

"No!" he shouted forcefully, probably a bit too loudly for an infirmary. His arm shot out to cover her own. She raised her eyebrow and looked noticeably alarmed. "Pardon?"

He withdrew his hand and felt himself growing moderately abashed and alert at the same time. He had to choose his words extremely cautiously so he wouldn't arouse any suspicion.

"Well," he said slowly after a few moments' pause, "do you remember when I told you I had that…er…medical condition?'

Lily nodded expectantly and crossed her arms over her chest. _As if I committed some offense and had explaining to do,_ Remus noted. "You see," he continued, looking down at the sheets. "I tend to lose blood often. Cuts, scrapes, shiners… you know."

He glanced up at Lily's face for a split second and was relived to find that she wore a somewhat satisfied expression. He had worried that she would see right through yet another one of his excuses. He knew they were lame, but it was either to stutter and think frantically like an idiot or to have her figure out his secret, which she undoubtedly could, if she gave his absences very much thought.

Because with Lily, very little could be kept insinuative or secret. Whenever she had looked directly at him in a conversation (which was rare; she generally let her eyes glaze over the room while she spoke), he had always felt peculiarly disconcerted. There was something about those eyes of hers, those penetrating green orbs, the likes of which he had never seen before, that was unnaturally…clairvoyant. It was as though miniscule, invisible fingers were emitted from her eyes and were prying apart the ribcage of the one she stared at, revealing all secrets and thoughts. So far, Remus had managed to stay hidden, but he didn't know how much longer he would be able to keep up this friendship without looking her directly into her gaze. He generally just got by by keeping his focus on her nose.

He felt Lily observing his weary and averted eyes for a few more seconds before she let out a sigh and rummaged through the voluminous brown messenger bag she had placed on the night table earlier. "So," she said casually, her eyes focused on the mass spillage of parchments and books that had begun flooding out of her bag, "what have you been up to lately?"

Remus fingered the scratchy white sheets with his thumb and gave a hollow cough. "Oh…not much." He had in reality been visiting the sites for various potential career opportunities this summer. None of them had been particularly big on the idea of harboring a full-fledged werewolf. But of course, Remus had no intention of telling this to Lily.

There was the disconcerting screech of a stretcher being wheeled across the tiled floor that stopped suddenly outside of the curtain. "You?"

Her hand emerged from her bag, clutching a copy of the morning's _Daily Prophet_. She tossed it down onto bed next to Remus's arms. "Well, you know me." She looked thoughtful for a moment and gave a small self-reproachful sigh. "Running around at all hours of the day to some random and some meaningful rooms, classrooms, and hallways, trying to wedge in homework, Head Girl duties, and hospital visits, and subdue rather chaotic revels involving filched Cornish Pixies all before breakfast." She tucked a stray lock into her rubber band and allowed herself a small half-grin. "Wonder Woman, I truly am."

Remus glanced at her amusedly out of the side of his eye and unfolded the paper. He cursorily glanced at the headlines. "Anything interesting today?" he asked with eyes darting rapidly from right to left.

"No Death Eater attacks, if that's what you're referring to."

Upon hearing that, Remus promptly placed the paper on his lap and sat up slightly, noticing too late that he had taken his gashed cheek off of his bed sheets, exposing it to the eyes of an extremely concerned Head Girl. Thankfully, she either did not notice, as her eyes were grazing over the windowsill beside Remus's bed, or she had enough decency not to interrogate him about it.

He leaned his head back on the pillows. "Well then, since there aren't any emergencies I should be reading about and as you're here already, would you mind briefing me on the latest news? I assume you've already gotten through most of it."

Lily shrugged. "Not much today. An inveterate con artist by the name of Mundungus Fletcher got himself kicked out of the Hog's Head for 'instigating unruly behavior, unbefitting of a well-renowned pub as the Hog's Head.'" She inserted air quotes here. "That, a few more squabbles at the Ministry over campaign funds, or lack thereof, and an injured Augurey up north. Apparently, it was squawking before the rainstorm last night with a bit more enthusiasm than the neighbors appreciated."

Tiny rain droplets, the vestiges of the previous night's shower, were trickling off of the window ledge, reflecting in the pupils of Lily's green eyes, which were still fixated on the dreary gray sky in pensive speculation. "We wait anxiously for the paper every morning, and so long as there's no attack, everything else is deemed unnewsworthy and trivial. And even when there is an attack, it's just 'another attack.'" When she spoke, she sounded as though it were to an ethereal guide or even to nothing at all. "I mean, we're so jaded; nothing is significant anymore. It's almost as if the murders of hundreds of witches and wizards for no apparent reason other than prejudice and hate have suddenly become the norm." She eyed the scratch on Remus's cheek. "It's a sad world we live in."

Remus merely gazed back, not exactly sure how to answer. Lily had never been one to pour out her innermost thoughts quite so openly, and unexpectedly, and even on the rare occasions that she did, it was rarely ever with the intention of receiving words of solace.

"Take me for example," she continued wistfully. "I'm Muggle-born and couldn't care less. I love my parents, they love me, and it just so happens that I was born with a rather unique gift. That's all there is to it. I don't really see any reason to feel inhibited or lowly, despite the deprecatory looks that some of the most Pure-Blood exponents shoot my way in the corridors."

Lily stopped speaking and her gaze shifted to the flowerpot on the night table. It appeared as though this train of thought had prompted some new subject of contemplation or worry. She furrowed her brow and set her jaw. It seemed to Remus that she was debating whether or not she should put into words exactly what she was feeling. And while he knew it was probably none of his business, at the moment, he was undeniably intrigued.

"But…" he prompted hopefully and hesitantly.

She clamped her jaw shut, opened her mouth slightly, cocked her head to the side, and then continued. "But, I can't help but feel a bit worried that my lack of family connections might affect my shot in the job market. Who's to say that the new executives at the Ministry won't be a herd of sanctimonious bigots who would love nothing better than to purge wizarding institutions from all those that they deem unworthy?"

Remus nodded, understanding where she was coming from, but internally, he smirked at the irony of it all. Lily, Head Girl of Hogwarts, was complaining of the difficulties of securing a career to a _werewolf_. He was musing over this interesting form of a rather morbid paradox when Lily seemed to come to herself upon hearing the sound of a rather high-pitched squeal several feet outside of the curtain.

Her head snapped up out of her reverie and, as though she had forgotten that anything had happened (which, Remus reminded himself, was entirely feasible), stood up and grabbed her book bag with one arm and swung it onto her shoulder. "That sounds like Miranda Binghamton, third year. She's here probably nearly as much as I am. Biggest hypochondriac I've ever met. Nice girl, but Madame Pomphrey usually leaves me to quell her nightmares of spottlegroit, or whatnot." She gave a chipper wave and grin, and pulled the curtain behind her.

Remus heard the sound of her footsteps shuffle briskly away from his bed only to stop and meet two pairs of familiar-sounding feet. They belonged to Peter and James.

"Good morning, Mr. Potter. Mr. Pettigrew," came Lily's terse voice. Remus could almost picture her giving them each a little brusque nod of the head. "I assume you got my letter?"

Judging from Lily's response, James had nodded in the affirmative. "Thursday then."

Lily's footsteps moved across the room to where Miranda Binghamton had been flitting about in empty anxiety earlier. James then began to stride toward the bed a few moments later, followed by Peter, who shuffled quickly to keep up with James's long, pretentious strides.

"Moony?" Peter asked timidly from behind the curtain.

"Here," he responded hoarsely. James poked his messy-haired head inside, and his grin immediately turned to a look of concern.

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, quite out of turn. Madam Pomphrey was heard at the other end of the wing, scolding the perpetrator in reproachful tones for contaminating the ears of her fragile patients. James rolled his eyes slightly and then whispered in a lower voice, "Jeez, Moony, you look like you were attacked by-" He paused and cocked his head slightly to the side. "Well, like a rabid wolf."

Remus raised his eyebrows wryly. "The novelty of your witticisms astounds me."

James gave an amused grin. "It seems as though the fangs that ripped your skin apart most undoubtedly haven't done any damage to your constant supply of ever-ready remarks of undiluted sarcasm."

"Yes, well it certainly does take a bit more effort than usual to be virtually optimistic when one is in intensely excruciating pain and is quarantined to a hospital bed with scratchy sheets."

James chuckled. The two of them could usually go at it for hours on end. But given Remus realized that considering the current situation, James probably thought it best to force him to talk as little as possible.

"Er, James? Mind moving?"

James snapped out of his focus on Remus when Peter's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Huh?" He turned around, only to get his head caught in the white curtain. He had had just his head poking through it the entire time.

"Sorry," he said with a bit of frustration as he tried to extricate himself from the sheet, which had inevitably decided to squeeze him around the middle as a safety precaution against those that stayed stationary in the opening for too long.

Peter in the meantime scuttled underneath the curtain and managed to enter Remus's loft untangled, sitting himself down in the seat formerly occupied by Lily Evans. When James finally freed himself, he grabbed a wooden stool that was near the foot of the bed, moved it near Remus's head and then leaned his cheek on his fist, supported by Remus's night table.

For a moment he just looked wonderingly into Remus's gray eyes, and then spoke. "So."

Peter's gaze fleeted between the faces of his two friends, one so calm and suave, the other bursting with curiosity and ache. "What happened last night?" Remus asked in a rush.

His two friends exchanged glances. "To put it mildly," James began, sitting up as though he were delivering very ill news, running a hand through his already unkempt hair to make it even more tousled, "you and Sirius both had a bit of, er, well, a battle of male dominance, so to speak."

Remus coughed. "What?"

"It was weird," said Peter perplexedly. "Everything was fine. We were in the forest and having a jolly old time, and then you and Sirius went all rigid for a few seconds. Looked like you were having some sort of seizure."

James shot Peter an oblique look that Remus was unable to interpret and then continued. "When the two of you came to, you were …wild. You began howling at the moon and started to attack each other. You were almost rabid." He shook his head. "No, scratch that. You _were_ rabid. Insanely, uncontrollably rabid. Both of you."

"James did what he could to stop you, but you just kept howling and biting and spitting. I kept out of the way, being small enough to get trampled on-"

"You _hid behind a bush_," –He shot Peter another look- "I tried to break you up, and eventually succeeded, but not before you completely tore each other apart."

"And the way you both calmed down was the strangest of all. It was easier to see on Sirius, with those puppy eyes."

"You slowed down, and then your eyes sagged shut and you sank into the ground. But the looks on your faces…"

"Relief, that's what it was. Like your fits were just melting away."

The two of them said all of this very quickly, almost as if it were rehearsed. Remus, for one, didn't know what their purpose would have been had they actually done this (which they probably had); he was no less nonplussed, curious, or anxious than he otherwise would have been. He glanced from James, hair messier than usual and glasses askew, to Peter, whose eyes were wide with nervous anticipation and whose small pointed nose was twitching erratically. Both were breathing rather quickly.

Remus honestly didn't know what to ask first. He scratched at the itchy scab that was beginning to form on his cheek. "Sirius too? That's just…"

"A frightening, surreal, unexplainable freak accident of nature that has every one of us completely dumbfounded?" interjected James. "Yup." He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and stuck his hair up in the back once more.

Remus sat up slightly. "But, I didn't hurt him like _this_, right? How's he doing?"

"You've ended up much worse than he did," said Peter somberly. "He has a few minor scratches, but nothing that needs Madam Pomphrey's attention."

"That's another thing," added James. "I don't think either of you meant to hurt each other as brutally as you did. I just think you were each startled when the other one started his howling."

Peter shifted in his seat. "And James and I think you got beaten up worse because you tend to bite yourself in addition to everyone else. A lot of those marks are from your own teeth." He nodded in the direction of Remus's torso.

Remus pulled his beaten arm out from within the sheets and examined the long gash on his forearm. Definitely his own teeth.

"And he doesn't remember any of this?"

James shook his head. "Yet another aspect of this lovely thing I like to call Confusion's Mockery. The three of us -- that is, Sirius, Peter, and I -- usually remember everything after we transform. You don't, but then again, you don't have a human mind when you're a wolf." He scratched his forehead thoughtfully. "It's as though Sirius became part wolf. He remembers transforming into and out of dog form, and he also recalls running in the forest before the little episode. But about that itself, his mind has drawn an absolute blank."

Though slightly relieved that he hadn't beaten up Sirius too badly, Remus was still a bit disturbed by the lack of any mention of Sirius's current welfare. He wanted to know if his friend was also experiencing that sensation of having a foreign paperweight rolling about his intestines. "Where is he now? How's he doing?"

Peter shrugged. "As soon as we went up to Gryffindor Tower after bringing you here he conked out on his bed. Even if we tried to wake him, it wouldn't do any good."

James cracked a small grin. "Because even under the best of circumstances, Sirius makes napping a permanent, consecrated ritual that is fit to be disturbed by nothing other than himself and occasionally a bucket of incredibly icy water."

Remus rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. Trust James to try to make light of even the most perplexing of situations.

There was then a slight hiatus in the conversation during which Peter fiddled with the hems of his robes, James stared at a spot on the wall, and Remus frantically searched his mind for any possible positive turn of conversation to take that would veer his mind from his worry for Sirius and the churning pit in his stomach. In the background, they could hear Lily Evans trying to reason with a hysterical Miranda Binghamton. Judging from the decreasing decibel level of the latter's whining, the former was being successful.

Remus turned his head towards the direction of the squabble. _Ready, set, diversionary tactics go._

"I heard you have your first Head Boy-Girl meeting this week."

James narrowed his eyes slightly from behind his glasses and looked rather uncomfortable. "Yup," he said stiffly.

Peter rolled his eyes. "Come on, Prongs. Just because you stutter completely speechlessly every time she gets near you doesn't mean that she isn't a perfectly decent person… somewhere very, very deep down." James shot him a look of sarcastic annoyance.

Remus frowned. Maybe this wasn't the best choice of topics.

"Nah, Wormtail's right," he said reassuringly, trying to assuage the situation. "She's really quite interesting once you get to know her. Bit of a weird head on her shoulders, but she certainly gets you thinking."

James crossed his arms in front of his chest, still in apparent disbelief that the very one who had willfully embarrassed him and still continued to render him speechless of all sardonic retorts was able to be associated with any positive adjectives. "And you would know this because…?"

Remus shrugged offhandedly. "She helps out in the hospital wing on occasion. Seeing as I'm here a lot, she drops by for a visit."

Peter suddenly looked at James, who had become very flushed. "You _what?_" he hissed vehemently.

Remus felt himself gulp slightly. James was not the most mild-tempered of persons, and his frequent explosions were not pretty, not to mention that they weren't exactly appreciated in a hospital setting.

Okay, _really _bad choice of topics.

"Pardon. I wasn't aware that I needed your consent to become another's acquaintance," he said coldly. Remus had learned that they way to get James to think and act rationally was to be so blatantly bitter and sarcastic to him that he eventually ended up lecturing himself in his effort to tell off his challenger. It wasn't Remus's particularly favorite expedient to harmony, but it was definitely not in his best interests to risk a James-blowout, as he'd begun to call them.

James leaned forward, eyes blazing. "Moony, you bloody well know that you can talk to whoever you damn well please, but should I also remind you that it might not be the best idea to start making buddies with the _very smart Head Girl_ in the _Hospital Wing_ just after the _full moon_?" The light in his eyes was now recognizable to Remus as concern, not as anger. Remus inwardly breathed a small sigh of relief. At least now he wouldn't have to practice his skills at being rude and insular.

"Come on, Prongs. Come down. I trust her," he said almost pleadingly.

"Oh, well then!" James exclaimed, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "You _trust_ her! I guess that settles it then! I'll just be on my way with ole' Wormtail here, to positively slap myself silly. Imagine that! You _trust _her!"

Peter looked slightly abashed, as though James's cynicism were directed at him.

Remus sighed tiredly and looked up. "Look James, I don't want to argue with you right now, considering that one, we're in the Hospital Wing, and Madam Pomphrey won't appreciate it, and two, there's simply no reason for it. I've been friendly with Lily for about three years, and she's never once given me the impression of being nosy. Trust me, if she were that curious about my absences, she would have found out the reason long ago."

James opened his mouth to protest, but Remus held up a hand to silence him, and continued.

"I'm careful. She knows that I have some sort of medical condition, but never has it come up that it's related to the lunar calendar. She brings me my homework and notes, and makes for a most stimulating conversationalist. That is _all_."

James drew his mouth into a thin line. Peter's focus darted nervously back and forth between his two friends. "It sounds all right to me, Prongs," he said cautiously.

James glanced back at Peter, and after having weighed his opinion, forfeited. "Fine. It's not as though I'd be able to change your mind anyways. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Remus gave a crooked half-grin. "Trust me," he said assuringly. "I honestly don't think there's anything to worry about."

James simply nodded.

Peter cocked his head. "I don't mean to make you upset or anything, Prongs, but what is it about her that makes you so stubborn?"

Remus stretched his hands and placed them under his head, thoroughly glad that the confrontation was over. Whenever a disagreement such as this one occurred, both parties would dwell on it a bit internally, but would outwardly act as though everything was perfectly copasetic. And that was fine with Remus. "Because somehow I doubt that now that you've grown, you're merely intimidated by her height."

James winced. Despite the greatness of stride with which he had always accepted his small frame, it had been rather embarrassing for him to be a head shorter than his crush. "No," he said slowly. "Not exactly."

He tilted his head to the side and focused on a spot just above Remus's left ear. "It's something else. Just makes me…"

"Uneasy?" offered Remus.

James murmured in agreement. "Sometimes she's just like a red-headed McGonagall… but I don't know. She seems to have…multiple personalities in a way."

Remus raised his eyebrows. This was definitely not what he had expected to hear. That Lily was formidable and stiff, maybe, although Remus knew that that was not necessarily the case. But he had most certainly not anticipated that James would claim that Lily had _multiple personalities._

Apparently, Peter hadn't either, judging from the look of incredulity that dominated his face.

"And sometimes," James continued without noticing either of his two friends' reactions to his surprising words, "she's almost like Dumbledore. Like she's seeing _through_ you."

Remus frowned slightly. This was most certainly true. "And," he added, "every time she comes within a five foot radius of you, your witty diction comes to a complete, unparalleled halt."

James glanced at Remus with a small self-deprecatory smile. "Fine, fine. I'll stop."

The whining inflections that had been filling the background died away and were replaced by the waddling footsteps of a certain nurse.

Madam Pomphrey poked her head and torso into the curtain, looking very irritable. "You boys are still here?" She stepped inside and shooed at James and Peter with her hands. "Mr. Lupin has had a very difficult night. He needs his rest and ointment. Out!"

"But-"

"No buts, Mr. Potter! It is time for you to leave _now_!"

James looked pleadingly at Remus, who then eyed the gooey ointment in Madam Pomphrey's hands and said, "Nah. You two'd best go. I really don't think you want to see this."

_This is a bit awkward for me, as I generally try to avoid speaking altogether, much less writing down every ounce of humility and disgust that happens to grace my soul. But write it all down I will certainly try, if nothing else merely to empty myself from my burden and possibly offer guidance to any lost child who may, in about two hundred years or so, happen to discover this diary upon its excavation from the depths of the Hogwarts lake, into which I will pitch it when I grow tired of its lack of response._

_ Now then, simply based on my introductory paragraph, I suppose one might automatically conclude that I am a man of bitter temperament with no use whatsoever for the frivolities in which many of my classmates indulge. And, one would be absolutely right. I do not care to abjure my melancholy and rather sardonic disposition; denial is certainly a sign of weakness. However, that does not necessarily mean that I am all hollow skeleton and skin. Believe it or not, there is a heart beating in my ribcage, and a rather large brain perched in my skull._

_ Be that as it may, I'm afraid that I have not had very great opportunity to display my snappish wit and my sarcastic disposition. I merely come across as snappish and sarcastic._

_ Which is not always an altogether terrible thing. You see, sarcasm, I have found, is very fickle indeed. For some, such as Bellatrix Black and James Potter, it serves as a means for entertainment, gaining admiration and looks of astonishment and amusement. I do under no deliberate intention equate the two, and although I detest them both, I will not venture so far to say that the two are in the slightest bit similar. Far from it. But I digress. Unlike the favorable fondness that sarcasm holds for the two of them, with me, it seems to take a liking to acting as a repellent. A malodorous, caustic, nauseating repellent. _

_ Not that I resent that…completely. I do find it rather amusing to be the one whom all first-years regard as the untouchable brooder who will disembowel whichever oaf comes within a five-foot radius of him. You really should hear the rumors – but that's for another time._

_ Being the lone Slytherin does have its disadvantages of course. I am shunned from nearly all social gatherings; the rare few to which I am invited are generally in the form of a study session, during which my pupils try their utmost to keep their prying eyes off of my hair and contort their expressions of disgust into polite interest. They fail miserably. _

_ My hair is not actually as oily as everyone tends to think. It is just a so incredibly inky shade of black, that when in sunlight, it gives off glints of a whitish hint. I've never bothered to correct anyone' s misguided judgments; I doubt they'd care very much beyond the brief bout of cynical giggles that they would emit. But I should hope that that is all that they would consider concerning my hair, for their sakes. They would be sorry cases indeed if the only reason for their avoidance of yours truly was because of a baseless fear of grease._

_ And yet, I digress again. _

_ I hope not to bore you with my incoherent rambling. You see, I am not writing this particularly for anyone other than myself. Granted, should any despondent soul come across this book once I am finished with it and have long been rotting in my grave, I should, looking down upon him (or up, be that as it may), not feel towards him any ill will. If he may seek and draw out comfort from learning of the trials and tribulations of another, so be it._

_ But my main purpose is to ascertain my own character. I have found that when one does not talk much, but sits on the side and observes, one can determine much about the human psyche, as well as particular traits of various individuals. One of the things that I, as an onlooker, have noticed is that when one engages in a verbal exchange with another, one's personality is brought out into the open. One's character is also understood from the way one's fellow conversationalists relate to him or her. _

Being that I seldom converse with others, and that on the off chance that I do, it is generally concerning Potions, Arithmancy, or the like, I have had rare occasion to examine my own disposition. Perhaps if I write down my past and present, upon later reflection, I should be better able to understand myself and to seek some guidance for the future.

_ I am somewhat frightened of what I may discover, but I am determined to do it nonetheless. After all, a Slytherin is, if nothing else, ambitious, right?_

S. S.

By the time Thursday night rolled around, James Potter was feeling extremely jittery. Not because of schoolwork (although he did have backbreaking amounts of it), and not because of Quidditch (although he did need a new Chaser and a decent one was nowhere to be had). No, he was nervous for a reason that he felt far surpassed any other possible grounds for uneasiness. He had a meeting with Head Girl Lily Evans in about forty minutes, and he was petrified.

Ok, so maybe the term petrified was a bit intense for this particular situation. What he really was was-

"Anxious there, Prongs?"

Peter plopped himself next to him on the couch.

James looked up from his Transfiguration assignment, which he had been staring at blankly for the last fifteen minutes. "What? Oh, hey Peter."

Peter chuckled. "Head Girl getting to you, huh?"

James tried to shrug nonchalantly and ran a hand up to the back of his head. "You could say that."

"Say what?" asked Sirius as he came up behind them, pens and parchment in tow. He sat down in a plush armchair opposite the couch where James and Peter were sitting, and he dumped his piles on the table between them. Remus walked in and pulled a chair next to the table.

Peter pointed his thumb behind his shoulder at James. "Prongs is getting antsy about his meeting with Lily."

Sirius made a rather unattractive face. Remus just laughed.

"Really, Prongs," he said assuringly. "I've already told you. She's really not that bad once you get to know her."

Sirius smacked his forehead in mock astonishment. "Tell me you're joking, Moony. You heard her on the train! 'Thank you for your interesting advice, Mr. Black, but I would prefer to handle Mr. Potter without having to resort to blackmail. Now, please excuse me while I join my fellow Gorgons and cackle in sadistic delight. Have a nice day.'" He spoke in high, choppy tones that sounded nothing like Lily's voice, but were oddly reminiscent of their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Spright.

James leaned back into the cushions with a forceful thump and rubbed his eyes. "Thank you, Mr. Black, for that encouraging boost of confidence."

Peter laughed quietly.

"Oh, come off it," said Remus irritably. "Honestly, you talk as though she's some sort of missionary of Satan. I'm telling you. You really don't have anything to worry about." He paused. "Just don't say anything unbelievably stupid."

Sirius bent over his parchment and snorted. "Easy for you to say. You're the sensible one."

Remus glared at him, but it went unnoticed, as Sirius was intent on his work. "Forget sense. I'm just talking about James behaving himself."

Sirius waved his quill carelessly in the air. "Sensible, boring, same thing."

James shifted in his seat. "Not that I'm not grateful that you share in my doubt, Padfoot, but didn't you say that you were going to try to be friendly with Evans this year? You know, so things would be easier on Thalia."

Sirius brushed a few pieces of hair out of his eyes and shrugged. "Yeah, well. I realized it sounded nice in theory, but just wasn't going to happen."

Remus crossed his arms over his chest. "What happened to all that 'open-mindedness' you all supposedly care so much about?" he asked impulsively. He immediately shut his mouth once he had realized what he's said.

Sirius's back stiffened from where it was leaning over the parchment. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said dangerously low voice.

Remus's cheeks turned slightly pink and he looked away. Peter gave James a worried glance.

James was actually a bit surprised. It was usually Peter who blurted out tactless remarks without thinking. For Remus to allude to the Black family's controversial views on the issue of tolerance was just…well, James didn't really know what it was but it sure as hell meant that something was bothering his friend.

There was an uncomfortable silence among the foursome. The merry crackle of the flickering flames in the fireplace and the chatter of fellow Gryffindors did nothing to lighten the mood.

"So," said James casually, running a hand through his hair, trying to act as though everything was perfectly normal. "Whatchya working on there, Padfoot?"

"Charms," was the gruff reply.

"Er, anything interesting?"

"Loquerers."

Remus gave James a desperate glance. His gray eyes were drawn in regret. "Padfoot, I-"

Sirius interrupted him with a forceful cough and stood abruptly, gathering up his materials hastily. "Excuse me," he muttered. He quickly made his way across the Common Room to the staircase that led to the dormitories, bumping into a few protruding legs and book bags on the way. A few fourth-years looked quizzically after him. No one was used to seeing the boisterous Sirius Black in such sullen spirits.

The three remaining Mauraders watched their friend walk out on them, at a total loss for anything to do. It wasn't as though Sirius had ever told them exactly what had happened with his parents that had eventually driven him to leave; they only knew that it had had something to do with the Blacks' Pureblooded-fanaticism.

It had been during Easter break of Sixth Year that Sirius had appeared at the front door of the Potters' house sopping wet from the howling thunderstorm, clutching his broomstick and trunk. He had taken refuge in their home for the rest of the year and then some, and still, he circumvented every question that was thrown his way concerning his inter-family disagreement.

The gloating looks that his brother Regulus and cousin Bellatrix had shot in his direction upon their return to school after the spring break didn't seem to have appeased the situation very much. Sirius had still scowled towards the Slytherin table every morning, noon, and evening during meals, after which he would rearrange his facial expression into a mischievous grin and become as loud and as obnoxious as ever, if not more so. James supposed it had just been a ploy of Sirius's to bounce his relatives' disdain right back in their faces with the attitude of one who couldn't care less. Horrible actor, he was.

The tacit war of murderous glaring had subsided considerably since the new school year began; in fact, it had almost disappeared completely. And while James was secretly grateful that Sirius no longer uttered rather graphic obscenities under his breath in rapid Pig Latin at every passing Slytherin, he didn't know if this new behavior that Sirius had adopted was all that much better.

Low hums and buzzing gradually filled the Common Room once more as students turned their heads away from the staircase to the boys' dormitories and resumed in their work and games.

Thalia was walking toward them with an equally perplexed look as those around her; she kept glancing back at the staircase in bewilderment. "What's up with Sirius?" she asked with furrowed brows.

Remus averted his eyes, and Peter was still rather pale and twitchy, so Thalia turned to look at James, who responded somewhat apologetically. "Accidentally mentioned his family."

Thalia whistled. "You have any idea what really happened with all that?" She sat down in the chair formerly occupied by Sirius and curled her legs up beneath her. The flickering of the light of the fire speckled her hair, which at the moment was looking particularly springy.

James shook his head and shrugged a shoulder, astounded. "No clue. We rarely ever mention it, and when we do, he usually manages to worm his way out of talking. It's a rather touchy subject." He brushed a piece of dark hair out of his eyes. "You know anything?"

"Being his almost-cousin and all," added Peter.

Thalia shook no. "Nah. I wanted to ask him about it, you know…in case I could help, but Lily said it was probably best if I'd just let him talk when he's ready."

James cocked his head to right, bemused. "How would she know? It's not like she's all that crazy about Sirius."

"Lily's good at seeing these sorts of things," said Remus, who had been quiet until then.

Thalia turned to look at him and raised her eyebrows in mild surprise, but said nothing about his unexpected knowledge of Lily's character. Apparently, Lily hadn't told Thalia about her acquaintanceship with Remus either. "Yeah, she is."

A devilish smile played about her lips. "Speaking of Miss Evans, how go the Head Boy duties, Mr. Potter?"

James groaned. Peter chuckled. "He's scared stiff of her."

Now it was Thalia's turn to giggle. "Scared? Of Lily?" She stopped laughing and thoughtfully placed her index finger to her chin. "Yeah. I guess I can see how she can be very intimidating." At James's wide-eyed look she waved her hand carelessly in the air. "Don't worry about it."

Grateful as James was for the digression from the topic of Sirius's current bout of melancholy, he wasn't sure that this was the issue he would have chosen to discuss instead. Nevertheless, he figured that if anyone would know how to survive his meeting it would be Thalia Tonks. "Not worry that she'll bite my head off? There's a feat I'd be a wonder to accomplish."

"Just don't say anything stupid."

Remus gave a triumphant grin.

James clutched his head in the hands. "Honestly! Is what I say really _that_ idiotic?"

Peter looked away, trying to do so surreptitiously, but he was obviously trying to avoid answering the question.

"Well, you do tend to carry on about Quidditch a bit much," said Thalia.

"And you have a habit of making what you say sound overly self-centered," added Remus.

"You also have a god-awful temper that I just hope she'll never have to see."

"And you walk too confidently. Try toning it down."

The last remark was spoken by Remus, to whom James regarded with a look of both disbelief and disgust. "Really, Remus! She's not going to notice how I walk!"

"She will," he said definitely.

"Fine then. No need to shower me with compliments just now." James wrung his hair in his hands once again. "Jeez, and you people are supposed to be my friends."

"Sure, we are," piped Thalia cheerfully. "But what kind of friends would we be if we didn't point out every little flaw of yours so you can correct them?"

"Oh, I don't know," he drawled. "Maybe nice, thoughtful ones."

Peter sniggered. Thalia flapped her hand again. "Ridiculous. I'm telling you James, the only thing you really have to worry about is letting her be in control."

"Oh, that's nice. So now I'm just the incompetent Head Boy who sits about all day reading Marvin Miggs and not being allowed to indulge in the practice of taking House Points? Lovely."

She rolled her eyes. "_No_. I mean let her be in control of herself. Don't do anything or say anything that'll challenge her that way…that will make her doubt herself or cause her to become uneasy. Unless, of course, she challenges you to first."

James shook his head vigorously, as though trying to discard of old tidbits that were clogging up his brain to allow new room for this plethora of information. "Yeah, look. I've probably got to be going. Won't want to keep her waiting." He rose up from couch and lingered for a few moments of trepidation before he left the Common Room.

After he was out, Peter turned to Thalia. "So what do you figure?"

She grinned sheepishly. "I think I scared him a bit more than he deserved."

Thalia returned to the girls' dormitory a few minutes later to find Hannah sprawled out on her stomach, reading a romance novel on her bed, as she was wont to do when she should have been doing her Transfiguration assignments. Karen was diligently attempting to clean under her bed, but was incapable of doing so because of a family of Dust Bunnies that lived there that enjoyed bombarding her with pellets of fuzz.

"Hey girls," Thalia said cheerfully. She found grating on James's nerves to be very amusing at times; she often ended up in a particularly bouncy mood. The sight of Karen halfway underneath her bed kicking definitely helped to boost her spirits.

"Oh, hey Tha – ACHOO!" came the muffled sneeze of Karen. There was a rather painful bang as Karen's head hit the underside of her bed board. She emerged awkwardly, clutching at a small bump on her head. The front pieces of her thick dark hair had picked up stray pieces of gray dust. She twitched her nose. "What's up?"

"Nothing! Nothing at all!" She threw the back of her hand dramatically against her forehead and collapsed onto her bed. A soft hum of music came floating through the open window.

Hannah looked up from her book in mild amusement. "You sure about that? Because you seem a bit tipsy to me."

Thalia quirked a small half-grin. "Yeah? Well, now that you mention it, I do feel delightfully giddy!" She swung herself up in a seated position and bounced twice onto the mattress. Her hair sprung in tight coils with each jump. "Peeves and I were having a little 'chat.' He solemnly swore to leave me alone for a week provided that I supply him with several meals' worth of mashed potatoes. He said he'd pelt 'em at the Hufflepuffs some time."

"What's wrong with the Hufflepuffs?" asked Hannah, with her head on her folded arms.

"We've got a game against them in two weeks," grunted Karen as she repeatedly shoved a small broomstick underneath her bed. "Nice work, Thalia."

Karen was the only female Beater on all of the Hogwarts teams, a statistic that gave her much pride. She could certainly hit as forcefully as any male player, if not more so. She was tall – not so much as Lily, but she certainly had height to speak of, and she was very broad-shouldered. She imagined that it was largely due to her physique that she was such a successful Quidditch player. Thalia always said that she couldn't care less exactly _why_ Karen had such a powerful club, so long as she knocked the opposing teams clear off their broomstick and into the Hospital Wing. Not that Thalia particularly wanted to cause anyone a concussion, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Highly cooperative, he is that Peeves," piped Thalia. "Once you know how to handle him, of course. Interesting fellow, he was once upon a time. Said I reminded him of the way he was when he was alive." She tilted her head to the side. "I was a bit insulted at the time, but now…You know, if I have that much fun in the afterlife, the world can't be half-bad."

Hannah shook her head. "I will never understand you. Honestly.

Thalia jumped to her feet and bowed gallantly. "Why thank you, Lady Hannah. Lily told me that only this morning, but she said, 'Thalia, I love you dearly, but you have by far the most skewed logic of anyone I've ever met.'"

Karen snorted. "And she's so proud of it too."

Thalia pretended to look offended. "And you wouldn't be?"

Karen didn't bother answering; she simply rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to the Dust Bunnies. She had a tendency to become a bit moody when she was preoccupied with a task that she absolutely detested, such as the one that presently had her attention. Generally, she was in very good spirits, and among strangers, was often compared to Thalia. Thalia didn't especially see the relation; she was openly crazy and didn't really care what others thought of her, while Karen, though bubbly in her own right, tended to be a bit more subdued in public. She also had a certain tough streak to her that could be very forceful or intimidating, and when she was being sarcastic she often spouted out rather tactless remarks. But Lily said that behind the crude mouth was a heart of gold, and if Lily said it so faithfully, Thalia trusted it to be true.

Hannah was entirely different from Karen, even though they had been best friends from the cradle. Hannah was incredibly…_sweet._ She had not a bad word to say to or about anyone and greeted all with a smile. She tended to be a bit naïve in a certain respect with regards to others; she considered everyone to be a friend, and while at times this was a very worthy attribute, Lily, being the most cynical of the group, more often than once had to explain to her that peoples' intentions are not always as they seem. Hannah always understood at the time, but when a similar situation arose, she was always convinced that the person or people involved were unarguably different, and she very often ended up in tears.

Thalia and Karen were made very uneasy by these types of situations, so the role of the consoler generally fell upon Lily, who was a pure natural at it. Thalia was always amazed at the way Lily so gracefully comforted and soothed when confronted with someone in dire spirits.

And what made it even more fascinating to Thalia was how inconsistent Lily's personality seemed to be. One minute she was warm and sensitive, and the next she was stiff and callous. But Thalia still admired her beyond words, if not for her uncanny perception then for her unwavering sensibility and her ability to approach everything with aplomb and fortitude. Thalia considered James's arguments for categorizing Lily as a stickler, and after having mulled over them for a bit, realized that his assumptions weren't altogether invalid.

But of course, he didn't know the _real_ Lily.

"Ah-CHOO!" Karen bumped her head again and spewed a rather detailed string of expletives. A discordant twang struck the air. Hannah sighed and swung off her bed, grabbing a bottle of Frobingog's Fuzz Fizzler on her way to lying on the floor next to Karen.

"Your problem," Thalia heard her muffled voice saying as she headed toward the corner of the room where she had heard Lily's strum, "is that you care too much. Every single year you try to get rid of them, and every single _week_ they come back. The Dust Bunnies love you. They think you're funny, trying to get rid of them." Thalia heard Hannah squat down next to Karen and stick her head under the bed. "Here, use this."

Thalia grinned as she bounced over to Lily, who was sitting on the windowsill, guitar on her lap, gazing pensively at the star-strewn sky. The just-waning moon was partly visible from behind a patch of drifting gray cloud; the covered bits penetrated the opaque film slightly, casting an otherworldly glow in the midnight-blue sky.

Lily was gazing at the stars with a mesmerized sort of expression, although she seemed to be looking past the light-years of time and space, and trying to delve deep into her own soul as well as the secrets of the world, one so close and unattainable, and one so far and infinite.

It was her "Dumping Look," as Thalia had so eloquently dubbed it several years ago. Lily wore it whenever she was contemplating the woes of the universe and strummed quietly to herself. When her three friends asked why she always played the guitar while she thought, she tried to explain that she was relieving herself from everything she had been building up inside. Thalia, being eleven at the time, thought it was kind of like 'dumping out her feelings'. And so, the phrase was coined. It wasn't until several years later when she and Karen happened to mention it in a hallway and other students stared at them disgustedly that they realized how crude the term sounded, but it had been too late to change it.

Thalia didn't want to disturb Lily; she looked so preoccupied with her own thoughts. So she stood a little back as Lily began to sing softly. The words were wistfully poignant somehow, speculating on a utopian tune and a piper leading the world into reason and laughter.

Thalia cocked her head to side slightly, listening. She knew the song. It sounded different now, because on the recording she had at home it was played with an electric guitar; Lily used a mournful acoustic.

She found herself wondering not for the first time if Lily had picked the song she was singing because of the way she had been feeling at the moment, or merely because she liked it. If it was the former case, Thalia couldn't even begin to imagine what must have been going through Lily's head; she loved the melody and the vocalist's voice, but the meaning of the words was beyond her.

Lily ended the song without singing any more of the lyrics; she stared beyond the moonbeams for a few moments longer, and then her head suddenly snapped to the side.

She smiled warmly when she saw her friend. "Hi! I was just finishing up." She propped up the guitar against the wall and dragged a black case out from underneath her bed. "Where've you been?"

Thalia crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. She smiled mischievously. "Oh, just having a chitchat with our favorite Head Boy." She wanted to see Lily's reaction when she told her exactly _what _they had been talking about.

Lily gingerly fitted the guitar into its case and raised her eyebrow distractedly. "Hmm? What about?"

"You, actually."

Lily snapped the case shut and sat on her bed. She looked up slyly and amusedly and crossed her arms. "Oh really? Did either of you say anything about my character that I didn't know already, or is it safe to say that he was just telling you how much he dreaded our upcoming meeting?"

Thalia grinned. "The latter. He's petrified of you." She waited to see what Lily would do, but whatever response she had been expecting, it certainly wasn't the one she got. Lily _laughed_. Loudly.

Thalia frowned. "What's so funny?"

Lily shook her head, still vibrating a bit, and started to get a bag together. "Nothing, it's just that he still thinks that my sole purpose in life is to humiliate him."

"And it isn't?"

Lily looked up. "I'm not really that bad, Thalia. Besides, I've decided to call a truce."

Now it was Thalia's turn to raise her eyebrows. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

Lily stood up and swung her bag over her shoulder. Thalia suddenly felt unbelievably short. "He seems different this year, more willing to take his duties seriously."

Thalia didn't know what delusional source had given Lily this information, but she decided not to question it, and though she knew that it would torture her later, she merely watched her friend leave the dormitory with a wave and go off to her meeting with James Potter.

Thalia smiled at the pair of sneezes that sounded from the other end of the dormitory and looked out of the window at the stars; she could see nothing in them remotely fascinating.

It was interesting the way Lily's sudden change of mood had altered her former peppiness as well. She shrugged to herself and muttered, "Well, James Potter, I take it back. She definitely is highly unusual. Good luck to you."

Author's Note: Here it is! After two months of barely writing at all and one week spent glued to my computer screen, here's the result. Sorry I didn't have much L/J interaction here other than those two lines in the Hospital Wing; this chapter was getting so long even _I_ was getting tired of staring at it.

Besides, this one's more of a character-building chapter. Sirius's certainly getting…erm…different, and Remus and Thalia came into the spotlight. And as far as Lily and James go… sigh capricious personalities are just so much fun to write!

And to anyone who was wondering whether or not they were imagining things, yes I did change my user name. That little 1 that was stuck after Silvertongue seemed to me to be a blemish of unoriginality. I mean, it was; I borrowed the name from Philip Pullman, but still.

Thanks to everyone who read and even more to everyone who reviewed:

**Trinity Day**- Thanks! I didn't even put those flashbacks in the story when I was forming the plot in my mind one night when I gasp! couldn't fall asleep for the life of me. They just kind of stuck themselves in there. I'm glad you like.

**Lotrfreek**- Hey there! Thanks for reading…Was it during English or Chem? (yeah, K told me what you guys _really_ do during class.) See you Monday. Ugh. I'm liking vacation way too much. Shame it always has to end though.

**Quack Quack 88**- Wow! Thank you so much! My chief concern when I was writing this was that Lily would turn in to one of those bookish Mary Sues with the superpowers and the whole kit and kaboodle triteness-package. I'm so glad I'm not coming across as looks around and then whispers disgustedly cheesy.

I'm happy you like Voldemort. That was a lot of fun to write. Going deep into the mind of a power-hungry bigot who harbors a passion for baton twirling…yes, quite fascinating. Thanks for reviewing!

**Zenith Meridian**- I think I like this name of yours the best so far. Nice and subject to interpretation, considering that cartographically speaking, there is no such thing as a zenith meridian. I thrive on obscurity! I'm the one who read the lyrics to the Beatles' "Helter Skelter" and thought it was a metaphor for the free-falling sensation of depression. Turns out it's just about a playground. Gets me into trouble, that characteristic of mine does.

Anyway, thank you so much for that first paragraph! I got so warm and gushy inside! cough Yeah. I'm glad you liked the little confrontation with McGonagall. I was waiting for someone to mention that.

In terms of the title, there are several reasons for it. One is, as you gathered, because of Lily's passion for music. Another is tied to my Pied Piper metaphor; it was mentioned subtly in this chapter while Lily was singing. It will be brought out more later. I have a poem I wrote about posted. It's kind of an accompanying piece to this fic, in addition to simply being the result of lying awake at night thinking that sometimes the world just sucks. Oh, look I'm sounding pessimistic. I'm really not; I'm just a realist. And the title also displays my obsession with everything and anything Andrew Lloyd Webber. I'll probably stick the song in somewhere later (the fact that it wasn't written at the time of this story and is entirely misplaced is inconsequential).

Oh! First name basis! I'm so flattered. My name's Elana. Nice to meet you. Oh, and I'd like to meet this English teacher of yours. Seems like quite a character.

**SFThomas**- Thank you so much for your review! And I apologize for making the chapters so long. I tend to get a bit carried away with Word.

You're also a piano player? And a Phantom fan? Pshh. Good taste, my friend. I saw Phantom on Broadway in seventh grade and I've been hooked since. Incidentally, "The Point of No Return" is my 'angry song.' (I assume you have one of those?) It's actually about seduction and is meant to arouse other – ah – sentiments, but the fact that each hand is in a different key makes it quite suitable for banging.

Thanks for the little "Grindelwald" correction. Notice. I've changed it all! pats herself on the back and waves in a Hollywood-like fashion to her perplexed stuffed animals

**Sakura-Free Spirit**- I never thought such a short review could make me grin so widely! Thank you!

**Pristine**- I'll try!

**Nava** – Ha ha! I got you to read fanfiction! I'm never letting you live this one down! What will your father say? Tsk tsk. Oh, Thalia is the Muse of Comedy, and according to Edith Hamilton (my summer reading, lol), she's also the Grace of Good Cheer. I thought that both attributes were equally appropriate.

Oh, I didn't get a chance to thank you for the chocolate! Let me just finish the frozen yogurt in the freezer and then I'll start on it!

**Princess of Barzel** – Great name, first of all. The Iron Queen. Nice, nice. You're right. Lily is gradually becoming more and more of a replica of myself, (albeit a much taller one), but we're not exactly the same. She's going to be mutating quite a bit as this story goes on, and some of her characteristics are completely different than mine. For example, I've opted not to give her the duel-with-hockey-sticks-in-the-middle-of-gym-class personality. One, because it would throw the story completely out of wack, and two, I think I'd scare away the readers.

Now how's about leaving a written review?

Thank you so much to everyone. I'll try to get Chapter Seven up when I can. I'm not promising miracles. My teachers don't really factor in fanfiction when they pile on the assignments. Hopefully I'll be back soon. Until then, toodles, and happy reading to all!


	7. The Inevitable Victor

Music of the Night

**Chapter 7:  The Inevitable Victor**

            James hustled quickly through the corridors, nearly colliding into the thin, yet still existent trickle of students that was thinning in the hallways.  Of course, the fact that his sense of direction was presently a bit skewed wasn't exceptionally surprising; he was always like this whenever he was on the more restless side…Not that he ever told anyone that or allowed it to become even moderately visible.  When his hands would start twitching slightly, he always stuffed them into his pockets, and his toes would do a little tap-dance in his shoes.  No one would ever notice, and the evidence was well concealed, but being as this was mildly painful, James did not at all like it when he was nervous.

            But then again, when he really thought about it, what was there to be nervous about?  He was Head Boy, he was going to his first meeting with Head Girl, and that was that.

            So what if she scared the bejeezus out of him?

            Scared him?  Nah.  Maybe unsettled him.  Yeah.  That was more like it.

            But why though?  It wasn't because she hated him; he was certainly able to handle grudges inflicted in his direction.  He had, after all, pranked nearly all of Slytherin House and then some by the ripe old age of thirteen.  

            He scratched the back of his head in agitation.  _Why do you hate me, Lily?_

            The incline of the long stone corridors began to get a bit steeper as he neared the corridor that held the antique oak library doors. He coughed slightly and then quirked the corners of his mouth upward wryly.  _I don't hate you, Mr. Potter.  I merely regard you with an intense dislike._

            Yup, that was it.  That's exactly what she would say.  Interesting though, James realized with surprise, that he was even somewhat able to predict her responses to questions that he hadn't even asked yet.  He supposed that was a good thing; meetings would be sure to pass much more breezily if he would be able to have a fair idea of what she would deem to be appropriate topics of conversation so that he could avoid touching upon subjects that she would consider crude or juvenile… or worse, prat-like.  

_            I am _not _a prat.  I am _not _a prat._  Eh, who was he kidding anyway?  He most certainly was a prat.

            He winced.  _Real mature there, Potter.  That'll win you over into her good book most definitely_.

            His legs finally stopped in front of the doors to the library.  He wished he could keep on walking straight onward; the painting of that giant bowl of fruit was nearby and at times like these, a nice slab of roast beef could be very comforting.  And to top it off, his toes were still wiggling frantically and uncontrollably.

            So what would happen if he didn't show to any of the meetings?  McGonagall would skin him alive.  No, scratch that.  She'd skin him alive, roast his tender flesh and feed him to whatever illegal, lurid creature Hagrid probably had hidden under his floorboards.  

            Okay, maybe she wouldn't do anything quite _so _extreme…but he'd certainly lose all hopes of being anything other than a nominal trophy Head Boy.  That thought in mind, he sucked in a breath, straightened his shoulders, stuck his head high in the air, and with feigned confidence, stepped into the library.

            James didn't know if the setting he found there was perhaps more disturbing than it was assuring.  The pallid glow of moonlight glistened through the gauzy lavender drapery, and hundreds of suspending lamps provided the room with just enough light to read comfortably, albeit in a somewhat shadowed surrounding.  Whatever noise there was in the room was reduced to a low hum; students' whispers and the scratching of quills on parchment filled the background.  It was exactly as a library should be, and yet, a part of James wished for a great explosion of spontaneity to suddenly burst forth out from the floor in pulsating fingers of flame, if only to distract him.  The mundane peace of the library seemed to mock him, seemed to laugh at his inner turmoil and at the little jitters that he was futilely making efforts to subdue.  

                        He tried instead to focus on his mission at hand, and to carry it through without being ousted out of his position or humiliated.  Just get it over with… and – He frowned as he recalled with annoyance the all-encompassing advice that he had been given.  _Just don't say anything stupid._

            Big help that was.  As if anyone would purposely say anything that would make him sound like a blundering idiot.

            He ran three fingers through his hair in what would have looked to the common observer as an attempt to tame it.  _Nah, make it messy as possible_, James thought defiantly.  He might have to watch what he was going to say, but he'd march right in there and look any way he damned well pleased.

            Now all there was to do was to turn the corner where Lily Evans would be waiting.  After pacing back and forth repeatedly, James finally carried this resolve through on his third try.  And sure enough, there was the Head Girl, scrawling slanted blue lines across a piece of yellowed parchment, her quill's scraping adding to the murmur of sounds throughout the room and her bespectacled eyes screwed up in concentration.

            And then James stepped forward.

                        It took Lily a few moments to notice James's presence hovering over her before she looked up for a quick moment, squinted as though she couldn't see properly, and then stood up wide-eyed when she finally realized who he was.  The initial shock flickered across her features for only a second; it was gone before James could even assure himself that it had been there.  Her face immediately wore an expression of impassivity, and even James couldn't help but feel that she was eyeing him with a glance of slight affability.  She extended an ink-stained palm.  "Hello, Mr. Potter."

            James waited a moment and a half before he shook her hand in return, quite confused.  She was being perfectly civil and proper, as much as was to be expected, but he had certainly not anticipated that he would hear tones of cordiality and reconciliation in her voice.  It would have been much easier if she had been prickly; then he and she could have continued to travel in the same vein as they had been in for the past six years, one of sniffs and cynicisms, disturbed only by the brief hiatus from confrontational tension during which time James had had his crush, a period in his life he would have rather forgotten, given how it turned out in the end.  At least then, if she had acted as he had anticipated, all would be in a state of normalcy, whatever that was.  And James always longed for normalcy and stability.

            So maybe it wasn't Lily herself that made him nervous.  Maybe it was the fact that normalcy in the world of James Potter didn't exist anymore, and hadn't existed since that morning that he had woken him feeling eerily different and lost.

            And the fact that he was _nervous_ around Lily, and even just in general was what was unsettling.

            And to see her just standing there so calmly, without a clue…as if she thought that with a smile and a courteous handshake, all could be forgotten and rectified.

            Lily dropped her grasp on James's hand and removed her glasses, then safely tucked them inside her robes.  She looked up and gestured to the seat across the table from her and sat down.  James stayed still for a moment, pondering whether or not turn the chair around and sit on it backwards as he normally did, thereby acting a bit more pompous than he probably should have been at the moment and blatantly ignoring Remus's advice.  He decided against it and slid between the backboard of the chair and the table.  While he was getting settled, Lily tried to surreptitiously hide whatever it was she was working on, and she pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.

            She cleared her throat and then began speaking.  "I guess I'll begin by telling you exactly why I called you here."  She paused, waiting for a response, but after only getting a raise of the eyebrows from James, she continued.  "I have had a feeling that there is a semblance of rivalry between us, or if not something so extreme, then definitely something akin to tension.  While I'm sure you have your reasons for these opinions, just as I have, I think this entire tacit friction has gone quite far enough."  James's jaw dropped slightly.  Luckily, she didn't notice; she was still neatening out the piles in front of her as she spoke.  "We are, after all, going to be working alongside each other for an entire school year, a feat that I think will be better accomplished under if not friendly, then at least well-mannered circumstances."

            The churning waves in his midsection that James knew as anxiety changed course.  While she was trying to be amicable she definitely wasn't nearly as intimidating as she used to be, but for whatever brusqueness she lacked at the moment she made up for in capriciousness of character and the ability to positively baffle James beyond all hope of comprehension.  His entire world as he knew it was falling apart.  His friends no longer understood him, the entire theory of magic no longer made any sense, and Lily Evans wanted to be friends.  

            Lily produced a short list from her bag and set it down in front of her.  She placed her forearms one on top of the other and looked up.  James caught a dazzle of green, that unnerving, omniscient, clairvoyant green.  Those eyes had haunted his fantasies as a fifteen-year-old; now he avoided looking directly into them at all costs.  He feigned a cough and turned his head a bit to the side.

            Lily raised her eyebrow.  "I'll suppose I can interpret that grunt as an expression of 'yes-Lily-I-know-you're-right-but-I'm-feeling-particularly-inarticulate-right-about-now', heh?"

            James snapped his head back towards her in shock; she wore no expression of sarcasm.  He felt the back of his neck growing hotter.  "What do you _really_ want, Evans?"

            "What's that supposed to mean?"

            He ran a hand to the back of his head and silently prayed to keep his temper under control.  "Come on, Evans.  I've known you for over six years now, and while you keep pulling out new ways to confuse me, I've never thought of you as the type to forgive and forget so easily.  You don't strike me as the philanthropic sort."

            Lily lowered her eyes in a slightly self-satisfied way.  "You sure that's not the pride talking, Mr. Potter?" she said softly.

            "I could the same for you, you know.  Something tells me it's your zealousness to live up to your title of Head Girl that's making you go completely out of character, not a sense of moral integrity."

            She crossed her arms over her chest.  "I don't deny it, but I don't think that that's necessarily a bad thing either."

            He shrugged.  "Well, it wouldn't be…if you don't mind lying."

            As soon as the words left his mouth he immediately wished they hadn't.  He had just done exactly what he shouldn't have.  _Just don't say anything stupid_.  The advice had been very worthwhile; he could see now that he really had needed it.  Of course, being as his luck's tendency to reveal itself was about the size of Knut, he had to first realize that _after_ he had already put his foot in his mouth.

            He chanced a look at Lily, expecting to see once again the snippety martinet he had come to know and love.  He was surprised to find that she didn't seem perturbed in the slightest.  If anything, she looked a bit amused.

            "Well, it's certainly nice to know that you're sharp in your own right.  I look forward to our conversations in the future."

            James didn't say anything else; he was afraid to speak.  She was by far the most moody and fickle person he had ever had the opportunity to meet, and he was not looking forward to seeing whatever other reactions she had up her sleeve.  But even so, for the first time since he had received notice of their impending, and now current meeting, he found himself wishing that maybe somewhere down the winding and perilous road they _could _be friends.  After all, he had an insatiable curiosity for every wonder and every whim that the universe had to offer, and she was a complex web of mysteries and quirks. And now James for some reason found the whole prospect of unveiling the veneer and slicing open that knot undeniably intriguing.  

            He attempted a weak smile.  "Same to yourself."

            There was a pause for a few moments.  The murmur near the front of the library had all but subsided completely, and the dankness of the air that accompanies shelves of unopened books was growing more intense as night began to settle.  Lily glanced at her watch dazedly and pushed herself up. 

            "Well, now you know where I stand at least."  She made to leave and then stopped herself for a few seconds, looking as though she had forgotten something.  She turned to James and placed the list she had been holding in front of him.  "I jotted down a few ideas that I had.  You might want to look them over and let me know what you think."  She swung her bag over a shoulder.  "And please don't hesitate to bring up anything with me." 

            James picked up the list casually and let his eyes skim over the slanted cursive.  He had to admit that she actually did have some rather interesting thoughts on the parchment.  "Hmm.  Will do."  He glanced at the list once more and then rose.  James felt slightly comforted by the fact that she, being weighed down considerably by her leaden bag, presently appeared to be a few inches shorter than she usually was.  It wasn't as Remus said, that he was intimidated by her height, although he did find her tallness rather surprising; it would just be psychologically easier to work out any issues that the two had, something he desperately wanted at this point, if he would have been able to see over her head when the two faced each other.  

            "I'll see you around…Lily."  He held out a palm.  She shifted the weight of her bag onto her other shoulder and extended her own hand.  Then they shook, callused palms brushing callused fingers.  James looked up from the grasp and found Lily looking directly at him.  Sure, this unnerved him, and sure, he felt as though she was seeing right _through_ him, realizing exactly what was making him so uncharacteristically agreeable around her that evening, but he kept the gaze.  He was rather pleased to see that far from wearing a look of disapproval that she often wore in his company, she now looked rather satisfied.  And strangely enough, he was satisfied too.

            About an hour or two later later, James was on his bed, lying on his stomach.  It still wasn't late enough to be going to sleep quite just yet, but he was in the dark, reading by candlelight.  Sirius was gently snoring behind his drawn curtains, and although James knew that Sirius wouldn't wake for the Apocalypse itself, he still didn't think it would be right to light a bright lantern smack dab in the middle of the dormitory.

            It _was_ the least James could do for Sirius. James had thought that he had learned the ups and downs of Sirius's character fairly well, that is, until that night.  That was when Sirius had without warning altered from his prank-happy state of euphoria to this broody and sullen disposition.  Of course, James had known that Sirius had always been deeply affected by any mention of his bigoted family, but this sudden change of attitudes was definitely something foreign and perplexing.  And especially when Remus of all people was the cause.  Remus had always considered every word before it left his mouth, and while it was true that he _had _made a careless slip, James didn't know that this was really any reason for Sirius to contemptuously retreat into himself as he had.  It was probably eating up Remus right now; he couldn't _stand _being on the receiving end of the anger or prejudice of _anyone_, be it fellow Marauder or werewolf hunter.

            James hadn't seen Remus since he returned from the library, which was probably just as well.  James needed a bit of time to work out exactly how he was going to approach his two friends to try to see what he good he could do to abate the tension.  Maybe Peter would help.  He was usually rather skilled with that kind of thing…well, once he knew what was going on and resolved to be tactful, that is.   

            That's how Peter was.  He was not exceptionally clever, nor did he have a particularly obtrusive personality, but he was as loyal and as honest as they came.  Because of his bluntness and quiet observational skills, not only did he notice things that James often didn't (similarly to the way Remus did), but he wasn't afraid to say what he was thinking.  This might be called tactless at times, and it generally was, but Peter usually chose the right moments to make a spot-on comment or witty quip, so they were for the most part appreciated.  

            Of course, Peter never intentionally said anything that would make another Marauder take offense.  Because even though James knew that Peter could probably be a leader if he had wanted to, he always chose the role of the sidekick.  Willingly too.  He regarded James as an immortal being of the sacrosanct who could do or say no wrong.  This definitely boosted James's ego something considerable, but he still couldn't help but feel sometimes that despite Peter's unwavering loyalty and dedication, Peter would have been better off if he could just take a little time by himself and discover that he too was a worthy human being, capable of wondrous things.  Because James truly believed that every one of his friends was immeasurably special in his own right, and that together, they could conquer mountains.     

            So it was imperative that whatever inner conflict was consuming Sirius at the moment be thrust forth and exposed.  Bottling things up inside would only make things worse over time, and only if Sirius talked out his issues with someone who would listen and understand would he be able to be carefree once more, without the weighty burden of abandonment on his shoulders.  James didn't know if the reason Sirius wasn't telling him anything was because he thought that James was the wrong person to tell, or just because he didn't feel like opening up altogether.  Either way though, thought James wryly, when pressure keeps building and building up, it's only a matter of time before the balloon pops.

            But there was no benefit to be gained by worrying about his now, when Sirius seemed completely unaware that his nose was emitting some rather hoarse snorts, so instead, James turned his attention to the list that Lily had given him earlier.  It looked as though she had ripped the page directly out of a fifteenth century textbook -- that's how neatly it was written.  Much _too _neatly, James thought, as though she had Charmed her cursive to be that perfect, to slope ever just so to the right, to have those i's dotted directly over their heads, to curve those round circular letters so delicately…  He wondered for a fleeting moment if he would be able to try and sort out her character if he brought the list to the Divination professor for a handwriting analysis, but then he remembered that Hogwarts hadn't even had a permanent teacher in that position for several years at least.  Apparently, there was quite a dearth of competent seers looking to teach a bunch of teenagers how to read palms.  James couldn't for the life of him imagine why.  So he supposed he would have to settle for evaluating her persona the old fashioned way – by association and observation.  

Perhaps it was wrong of him to be treating her as a project, but that's how he felt about their relationship as of now – an experiment.  She out of the blue up and decided to give him a second chance and had smiled at him.  Not to mention that she had been looking at him rather curiously in classes after he made his skeptical comments.  She was just so damn _confusing_, and he was pretty sure that she knew it too.  The ability to astound and deviate from anything normally adolescent was not a congenital trait; it had to be reinforced and developed.  

She undoubtedly felt similarly about him as well.  She always looked at him now as though he were different or out of the ordinary, and while James tried to deny this prospect as much as he possibly could without outright lying to himself, he knew somewhere deep down that it was true.  He _had _changed.  He highly doubted that Lily knew exactly how, as he himself had no clue whatsoever, but just the fact that she had noticed _something_ worried him.  Why it worried him was yet another mystery to dwell on, but that was something that he simply couldn't refuse to recognize.  Lily might have even found him as curious and as challenging as he found her, and knowing exactly what he thought of the Head Girl, this was saying quite a lot.

But as enigmatic as she was, she certainly had some good ideas, thought James as he read the blue-inked script.  Perhaps she was a bit too much of an advocate for inter-house interaction for his own personal liking (and probably the likings of the whole of Slytherin House, and a decent percentage of the remaining student body as well), but other than that, not too bad.  The particular point that he found the most appealing was a suggestion to forge relationships between upperclassmen and the younger students.  This was quite revolutionary; classes had always for the most part been rather separate, especially between houses.  Lily was proposing an organized method to meet and befriend students in the first and second years to ease them into their future Hogwarts years and to act as mentors for them.

He would have to tell her in the morning that he thought it was a great idea.  If nothing else, it would make her slightly warmer towards him to some extent.  

James felt his eyelids drooping.  Remus and Peter weren't upstairs yet, and he could still make out the faint tones of multiple conversations sounding from the Common Room, but he was completely wiped from the jittery workout that he had undergone earlier.  And so, he rolled over on his side and, soothed by the steady breathing of Sirius wafting from the next bed over, he felt himself drift into a long-awaited sleep. 

*   *   *

Remus had thought that perhaps if he let Sirius cool off for a day or two, the latter would bounce back to his normal, bouncy self.  But fate and logic just weren't on Remus's side that month.  It was nearly two weeks since he had accidentally made a slip about the notorious Blacks and their newly disowned relative was still brooding.

It wasn't that Sirius didn't talk to Remus.  He had no objections to asking him to pass the mustard at dinnertime or to discussing the ingredients to the Drought of Despair in the middle of Potions class, but the two didn't jokingly discuss Quidditch or make fun of the teachers like they used to.  Remus realized that the antics and bigotry of the Black family was a very touchy subject, and he respected that.  But for Sirius to completely retreat into himself and not share anything with _any_ of the other Marauders was just unexplainable and completely out of character.

And the worst part of it all was that it was _he_ who had been the cause.  _He_, Remus, had been the one to unwisely comment on Sirius's family.  _He_ had been the insensitive one.  _He_ was the reason for Sirius's seclusion and moping.  It was all his fault.

 This concept was very new to him. He had never before been the one that a fellow Marauder was angry with.  In the past, it had been so easy to comfort and rationalize when he was completely oblivious to the exact feeling of having a leaden weight permanently wedged into one's own stomach.  James and Sirius had their little squabbles, and the two had confronted Peter on numerous occasions.  Remus had always been the one that any one of them had come to about a problem.  Maybe it was because of Remus's logic, or maybe simply because of the pure naivety that he possessed when it came to grudges and disagreements.  He would not be able to be empathetic, but for teenage boys, specifically _those _teenage boys, commissary was not always necessary.  Instead, Remus would be the one to talk about how the issue at hand could be ameliorated, about how to seek and reach the light in a seemingly bleak and endless stretch of terrain.

So if now Remus _could_ be empathetic, would it be possible that he would no longer be able to provide that unspoken comfort that his friends had always craved?  Whom would they go to now?  And more importantly, who would be there for _him_? 

He tried to shove these thoughts out of his mind and made superlative efforts to change his focus onto his Transfiguration essay, but he was having little luck.  Sirius was sitting in front of the licking tongues of flame in the fireplace not thirty feet away.  He was leaning against the side of an armchair with his knees bent up in front of him, so that they were acting as a table for the homework he was working on.  His quill was poised on the parchment, but he seemed oblivious to the fact that midnight blue ink was trickling out from the nib of his quill, forming dark, soaking speckles and spots where his essay should have been.  He was busy staring into the fire, or rather, staring past the fire, letting the dance of the flames mesmerize him as he remained occupied and chained by his own thoughts.  

For a fleeting moment, Remus saw a flash of a tall red-haired young woman with the identical expression in her eyes, gazing past the droplets falling from the window of the Hospital Wing, lost in her own musings and confusion.  He shook his head.  This was too much.  Much too much.  Something had to be done.  He had to find James.

Remus didn't have to look especially far in order to find James.  There were a limited number of places that the young wizard took to as havens.  When he wasn't studying in the library or entertaining himself, as well as dozens of Gryffindor spectators in the Common Room, he was usually found sleeping, eating, or playing Quidditch.  The three anatomical essentials for survival.

It was just an hour after dinner, and Remus had seen James shovel in three bowls full of beef stew, two rolls and thick hunk of chocolate cake.  So it wasn't likely that James would still be hungry.  It was always possible, what with the bottomless pit that James dubbed his stomach, but still not likely.  It was also too early to be going to sleep, so Remus headed down to the Quidditch Pitch.

Sure enough, there was James, streaking through the air at immeasurable velocity, robes and hair streaming out behind him.  He swerved in and out of towering obstacles visible only to him.  He moved with an unparalleled fluidity and grace, hampered only by the brisk evening air.   He was too high up in the air for his face to be clear, but Remus was sure that if he could look far enough, he would see an expression of the ultimate euphoria on James's face.  

A part of Remus wished he could for once experience that sensation that James had described to the Marauders countless times.  His mind drifted back to the previous spring, the most recent time it had come up in conversation.  The four had been lounging under their favorite tree by the lake, the same tree, in fact, by which the infamous "You-Make-Me-Sick Affair" had occurred.  Sirius had asked James whether or not he would ever consider a career as a professional Chaser…

_"So, Prongs, any idea what you'll be doing this time next year?"  Sirius leaned back on his hands and closed his eyes as a gentle breeze wafted by, brushing the loose strands of black hair off his forehead._

_James was blowing up a balloon at the time, and he stopped to take a heaving breath before blowing in once more.  He removed the balloon from his face once he deemed it to be large enough, and tied the open air hole into a secure knot.  "Celebrating the end of seven years of intellectual torture, I suspect," he said offhandedly.  He picked up Sirius's wand.  Sirius didn't seem to notice, or if he had, he didn't care.    _

_"Yeah, no shit...  I meant what're you planning on doing once you leave Hogwarts?"_

_James shrugged.  "Not really sure.  I mean I've thought about it, of course, but so far there hasn't been anything that's just stood out, you know?  Why?"_

_Sirius raised a shoulder.  "Dunno.  Just curious, I guess."_

_Remus put his book to the side and watched James for a bit.  Said boy was now Levitating the balloon with one wand and balancing a small flame on the tip of the other.  He was having a bit of difficulty getting the balloon to stay in place; the wind had just blown again.  "Oh, crap.  Get that for me Moony, will you?  I've only got two wands."  _

_Peter, who had been watching James with an almost impolite curiosity, looked up._

_Remus Summoned the balloon back and held it there with his wand while James continued to keep a flame underneath it.  _

_"Say, Prongs?" he asked._

_James's face was screwed up in intense concentration.  "Yeah?"_

_"Does it bother you that you don't know what you're going to do?"_

_"I guess maybe a little," James said distractedly, glancing at his watch every few seconds as the balloon started to steadily swell.  "I mean, everyone probably wants some idea of what the future's going to hold…I'm not going to say I haven't thought about it yet, but I'm not obsessing.  I just haven't found anything yet."    He was cut off when the balloon suddenly burst.  Shards of latex scattered the grass and Sirius sat up with a start.  "What the --?"_

_James's face burst into a wide grin and he stared at the red remnants of his experiment.  "Brilliant.  Simply brilliant."  He blew out his wand and twirled it a few times victoriously._

_Peter looked like he was trying to share in James's success but didn't know exactly what had been achieved.  _

_Remus scratched the back of his head.  He wasn't surprised at what had happened; he just hadn't anticipated the extent of James's enthusiasm.  "You know, if all else fails, you could always be a chemist."_

_James coughed.  "Nah.  I need to make my living in the great outdoors.  Besides, I doubt the Ministry would approve."_

_Sirius laughed at this.  "Well you're all set then.  Why don't you just play Quidditch?  Perfectly respectable, and you get to battle all the rain and hail you want."_

_Peter nodded in ready agreement._

_James leaned back onto the grass and stared at the fluffy clouds floating across the great expanse of blue June sky.  "Nah, I could never do that.  I couldn't fly for a living…Flying is something I do for _me_.  Quidditch is fun, sure, but playing professionally would suck all the fun out of it."_

_Sirius shot James a sideways glance.  "What are you going on about, Prongs?" he said lazily.  "You fly for the Cup.  That's no fun?"_

_James briefly looked at Sirius and then returned his gaze to the great sky above.  He placed his hands underneath his head.  "It's one thing to be playing for school, but it's completely different to play for all of England. Just think of the pressure!  Flying for me isn't just about scoring goals…It's more like time to be myself…You're soaring up there, lighter than air, and it's just you, your broom, and the sky…" His eyes glazed over, and then he closed them.  "I'm just me."_

_Sirius coughed.  "Sorry, mate.  Don't follow."_

_James shifted so that he got a faceful of June sun.  "It's hard to explain…I know there's a word for it, but I can't remember it right now…er…Maybe think of it like the balloon.  If I don't just get on my broom and get everything out, I'll..._pop.

_Sirius snorted.  "Yeah.  Sometimes when I haven't used my broom for a long time, I feel like I'm going to pop too."_

_Peter chuckled.  James sat up, took Remus's book from off ground and soundly smacked Sirius's head with it.  "Dirty!  Dirty!"_

Even now, Remus still couldn't grasp exactly what sensation James had been describing.  He wished he would be able to, so he too would have a chance to experience that thrilling euphoria.  But as hard as he tried to understand, he always wound up confused, and James always wound up frustrated as the result of frequent unsuccessful attempt to share his feelings with someone whom he thought might just understand.

Remus sighed and made his way to the stands.  He sat like that for a bit while he waited.  Occasionally he would glance up at the liquid blur of black that was James, and at other times, he simply let his eyes close, trying to think of anything that could be done about the current situation.

James touched onto the ground about ten minutes later, hair looking like he had just gotten out of bed and glasses askew.  He seemed oblivious to this; his face radiated exhilaration and purity.  

_Like he's just discovered the secrets to the universe_, Remus noted.

James leaned his broomstick against his shoulder and beamed at Remus.  "Hey, Moony! Beautiful evening, isn't it?"  He turned to the side and spread his arm out wide, gesturing to the molten palette of splendor that dominated the sky.  "Just look at that sunset.  Makes you think there's at least some good left in this world, no?"  He turned back to Remus; his eyes were bright, and he looked as though he anticipated a jubilant yelp from his companion as a form of agreement.

Remus didn't know exactly how to answer him.  The evening was indeed very picturesque; the setting sun shot streaks of fuchsia and peach through the sky, making the clouds' tips glow with a delicate, commanding light.  Yet something about James's mood just made him even more aware of his own worries and tensions.  That happiness, that freeness, which wind-and-rush-induced ecstasy…There was no denying it:  That was what was truly beautiful.  And at that moment, Remus just couldn't take it.  

He didn't _want_ to dampen James's spirits; he didn't _want_ to spread his currently overpowering feeling of pessimism and helplessness.  But at that moment, Remus didn't know what else to do.  

"James, I need to talk to you."  His tone was serious and pointed.  He felt slightly perturbed when the width of James grin began to decrease.  James had obviously realized that Remus hadn't come outside to comment on the weather.  "It's about Padfoot."

James's smile vanished completely now; a look of quiet and contrite understanding replaced it.  He ran a hand to the back of his head and scratched it, causing his hair to look even more windswept than it already did.  "Ah.  Yeah…I was thinking about that too.  Actually, it's why I came out here tonight."  He shook his head.  A spark of white light flashed against the rim of his glasses.  

Remus felt the tiniest flutter in his midsection, possibly merely because he wasn't alone in his anxiety, or maybe because if anyone knew Sirius it was James, and James was bound to have come up with a solution…or at least an explanation.  "And?"

James began heading up toward the castle, swinging his free arm at his side, more loosely that usual.  "I think I might have figured out the reason for his…ah…broodiness."

Remus started to walk alongside him, trotting slightly to keep up with James's long strides.  "Really?  Because to be perfectly honest, I'm stuped."  He frowned.  "And it hasn't been pleasant at all."

James sped up as they approached the castle doors.  "Well, I figure it like this.  Sirius is very…"  He frowned.  "Extreme, if you will."

Remus held the door open as they went inside.  That actually _was_ the perfect word to use, when he thought about it.  It flawlessly captured the Sirius's attitude and actions toward everything.  "I see what you mean."

"Well think about it.  Sirius wants to play pranks, and he obsesses over the stenches of Stink Pellets and the whereabouts of his favorite Slytherins for days.  He throws a party, and it results in a Cornish Pixie fiasco. He gets into a row with his folks, he disowns himself.  And then, when he's reminded of his family-"

"He retreats into sullen seclusion for weeks and stares meaninglessly into fireplaces," Remus finished wearily.  "Right."

They walked steadily up several flights of stairs and down the corridor to the Gryffindor Tower in silence.  The Fat Lady was entertaining a group of bandits, and from the looks of it, she was oblivious to the existence of the sabers at their sides.  Remus almost laughed out loud at the fixated stares of fascination with which the scalawags were regarding the Fat Lady; it seemed as though they didn't get out very much.

Remus murmured the password ("Shrivelfig"), and the Fat Lady let the door swing open, although she was a bit irritated that the two Gryffindors had interrupted her story.  They entered the Common Room and Remus was displeased to find that Sirius had not moved from his spot by the fire, nor had he made any headway with his essay.  He had replaced the parchment; apparently he had noticed the blotches that were on it, but he had not written a word.  He looked positively helpless, and miserably so.

Peter was sitting next to him, if not for his ready conversational skills, then merely for support of Sirius.  The two weren't talking.  Sirius was, of course, transfixed by the flames, and Peter was reading a textbook.  The latter looked up for a moment and caught James's eye.  James motioned him over.

Peter nodded to show that he understood and muttered something unintelligible to Sirius.  Either Remus couldn't hear the response, or Sirius hadn't made one at all. Sirius didn't react to his sudden lack of companionship; he sat motionless, in pensive, torturous solitude.

   Peter made his way over to the two Marauders; Remus felt strangely conspiratorial.  "What's up?"

James raked a hand through his hair.  "Moony and I have had enough."  He glanced at the lone figure in front of the fireplace.  

Peter nodded in understanding.  "Well, what have you got?"

Remus sat down.  The others followed suit.  "What's the one word that comes to mind when you think of Padfoot?"  He leaned his cheek on his palm.  His voice carried the air of one who was discussing the latest news in sports…It was a mockery of the seriousness of the whole situation really, and he knew it very well.

Peter looked at the ceiling for a moment, as he was wont to do while thinking.  "Erm…obsessive?"  He looked expectant.

James coughed.  "Not bad.  We were going for extreme."

Peter considered this.  "Yes.  That definitely works."  Remus emitted one single laugh, cynical and mirthless.  Peter glanced at him.  "Yeah.  If it's not fixating on one thing, it's on something else.  Now it's his family."

James rubbed his eyes.  "Right.  So now that we know the reason for it, we've just got to find out what to do."

Peter shrugged.  "So just find something else for him to obsess about."  He said this with such an air of casualty and simplicity that it almost made the proposition sound even more incredulous and yet obvious at the same time.  What Remus and James had grieved over and mulled over Peter had just solved in an instant, without any hesitation.  And what made it all the more surreal was that Peter didn't even realize the glaring genius of his comment.  To him it was just instinct and common sense that led him to come up with something.  In his mind, if it wasn't original or sensational, then it wasn't worth a damn.  And _that_ was the snag in Peter's self-esteem; he was too astounded by what others had to offer that he completely missed his own assets.

James dropped his arm and stared expressionlessly at Peter for a few seconds.  He then without warning burst into an enormous grin and clapped Peter on the shoulder twice.  "Ha!  Brilliant, Pete!"  It was the simplicity of it all that made it so brilliant, but Peter failed to realize this.  He too started in hysterical laughter along with James, although probably not because of self-pride or accomplishment.  James had thought that his answer was worthy of praise, and so in Peter's eyes, that meant that it was.  James Potter was King, and what a king says is done without question.  And so he joined in the laughter, because that was the appropriate thing to do at the time.

A few minutes later, James was still in a state of hilarity.  Several other students looked and pointed without saying anything; they too felt that if the Great James Potter was laughing there must have been a reason for it.  Sirius hadn't noticed.

Remus and Peter both looked at each other exasperatedly as James's laughter subsided.  He wiped his teary eyes and removed his glasses to clean them.  "So now what we need," he said in rapid breaths as he rubbed his glasses with his robes, "is a means of distraction."

"What do you think we should do?" asked Remus.  "Because right now, Padfoot is the picture of despair."

James paused for a moment and stared at the spectacles in his hands.  Little reflections of his hazel eyes danced amidst the glare of the lights overhead.  His mouth softened and his eyes were bright.  "Picture…" he whispered softly, pensively.  He had the look of one who had just made an enlightening revelation.  

Remus and Peter exchanged glances once again, this time each wearing a look of utter perplexity, mixed with amusement and relief.  James snapped out of his reverie.  "What do you two know about Loquerers?"

The question was so surprising and out of place that it took Remus several seconds to recover his wits to remember exactly what he knew about Loquerers, which, upon speculation, wasn't an awful lot.  "Not too much, Prongs.  Sorry."

Peter shook his head.  "Me neither."

James lightly pounded his fist into his palm.  "Damn."

Remus suddenly had a thought, and debated whether or not to run it by James, not knowing how the latter would react.  He decided to chance it.  "But you do know who _would _know, don't you?"  He glanced furtively up; from the expression on James's face, he could see that the two had shared the same thought.

James sighed, but it wasn't a sound of dread or loathing.  It was anticipatory and even perhaps a bit excited.  "Lily Evans."

*   *   *

At that moment, Lily Evans was sitting in the library trying to do her homework.  Trying was in reality a very mild term for the actual efforts she was putting into her concentration.  She had half a dozen books spread out in front of her and she looked positively ruffled.  But when Gilderoy Lockhart was in the company of another, he never stopped to think for a second that it was entirely possible that he was unwanted.

This, unfortunately for Lily, was one of those cases.  About an hour earlier, Gilderoy had greeted Lily with the air of one who had been out of touch with an old friend for a very long period of time. Lily, being too polite to blatantly ignore him or simply huff, replied back with a plain "How are you?"  

And now, here she was, over an hour later, and that blabbering narcissist still hadn't stopped answering.

It wasn't that she particularly disliked Gilderoy Lockhart.  What she felt for him was not so much contempt as it was pity.  The poor bloke was the archetype of _persona non grata_ and he was too blind to realize it.  Although, Lily reasoned, even if he had, by some strange twist of fate, come to recognize that he was generally regarded as being unerringly irritating, he would have most likely chalked it up to jealousy on behalf of everyone else in the world.  Because that was Gilderoy Lockhart: a gorgeous face with absolutely nothing to speak for between the ears.  It was sad, really.

So it was pity that prevented Lily from eloquently shooing him away when most others would have simply snapped at him to buzz off.  Lily usually felt very mature when it came to things like this, considering how she handled such situations.  She felt that she was always considerate wherever possible.  But this time she wished she didn't have quite the scruples that she did.  Because hearing about Gilderoy Lockhart's dream to open his own line of hair-care products was most certainly _not _how she wanted to spend her evening.  

 "So then, after experimenting with several rather _advanced_ potions, if I do say so myself, I finally found the perfect substance to comb through one's hair while it is still wet.  Naturally, it made my hair look dazzling.  Not that it wasn't exquisite before, but I'm sure you understand Lily dear, that one must always strive for absolute perfection-"

Lily let the sound of his voice waft blissfully over her head as she tried to wrack her brain for anything that would be in any way useful…either for her essay or for inventing an excuse to up and leave.

Her savior came in the form of one James Potter, and though the sight of him would have once made her recoil, his presence at the moment was a pure godsend.  

Lily sat up with a sudden alertness.  "Please excuse me, Gilderoy, but James is here for a meeting."  She stood up and waved.  "Over here, James!"  James saw her and headed over in her direction, wearing a look of complete confusion.  Gilderoy turned around and noticed the Head Boy.  He looked slightly put off.  "Ah, yes, James Potter."  He extended a hand out to James, who took it and quirked an eyebrow in Lily's direction.  She sent him a meaningful glance that she hoped he would be able to interpret.

"Yes, Head Boy, isn't it?  Bit of a shock for you, hmm?  Bet you never thought you'd beat me out of the title, I'll bet…"  His voice died away slightly, but he quickly recovered his wits and plastered a glittering smile on his face.  "Good seeing you, ole boy."

"Yes, you too," said James steadily, looking in Lily's direction.  "Lily and I just have to discuss some matters concerning house points…Head Girl and Boy duties you know.  I'm sure you understand."  Lily tried not to snicker at the suave expression on James's face.  It was obvious that he was mocking Gilderoy.  He was using Gilderoy's own techniques of conceit against him.  If it were in any other situation, Lily would have been disgusted and turned off immediately.  However, being as it was Gilderoy Lockhart that was in the hot seat, the whole situation was rather laughable.  James Potter may have been proud, but Gilderoy Lockhart was simply ridiculous.  

Gilderoy must have sensed his apparent inferiority at the moment, and took advantage of the pause in the conversation to exit the library.  James watched him leave and then turned around to face Lily.  His face held a strange expression.  It was one of resolve and confidence.

He sat down across from her and eyed her amusedly.  "So you're being audited to join the Gilderoy Lockhart fan club?"

Lily sighed and put her head in her hands.  "So you've heard of it then, I take it."

"Of course.  You don't remember the signs plastered on all of the bulletin boards about two years ago?"

Lily frowned.  "There were no fliers on the bulletin boards, James."

He chuckled.  "I know.  Just attempting at friendly conversation."

Lily raised her eyebrows in surprise.  It wasn't that she hadn't expected him to try to uphold the agreement they had made about a week earlier.  She always knew that James Potter loved a challenge, and if befriending her willingly after their history wasn't considered a challenge, she didn't know what was.  So she knew he would be friendly.  But perhaps what was startling was the ease with which he made conversation, openly admitting his intentions without fear that she would think ill of them.

And it was at that moment that Lily realized what it was exactly about James Potter that half of the female population at Hogwarts found so appealing.  She didn't think it was because of his looks.  Not that she found his face to be completely horrid;  He had interesting features, with the lean cheeks sharp, defined eyebrows, and a strong chin, but he didn't seem to have that devilish gorgeousness that teenage girls tended to go for.  No, what James had was a countenance that emitted rippling waves of confidence.  It was in his walk, his body language, and his tone of voice.  He basked in it.

And yet, with him sitting there looking at her like he was, she couldn't help but feel that there was more to him.  Sure, he looked calm and composed, watching her over his round glasses with entertained eyes, casually leaning on the table with one elbow.  But there was something different in the way he moved and acted.  All of his renowned mannerisms seemed almost _forced_ in a way, and she had never seen him quite so challenging in class before to the teachers.  But the biggest change by far was in his eyes…She had seen it on their encounter on the Hogwarts Express, and she had continued to see it every time they had met so far that year.  James Potter was still proud, but his eyes were distant and confused, as though he had aged overnight and a foreign soul was residing in his body.  They almost held an expression of being out of sorts…as though they shouldn't have been in that shell, or even in the world at all.

It had scared Lily.  It still did, as a matter of fact.  But maybe it was curiosity or that need to help that she possessed that had forced her to put her past doubts behind her and extend the olive branch.  And that he had accepted it so willingly, she realized, not only showed his thirst to prove himself, but also showed that now he _had_ to prove something to himself.  He no longer seemed to have that omnipresent assumption that he could do no evil.  Instead he was convincing himself that if only he could just do this thing, if only he could befriend Lily Evans, then it would prove that he was just as great as everyone said he was, and there was no reason to worry.

But this was just an assumption that Lily was forming, and she knew that even though she was uncannily perceptive, it was entirely possible that she was completely wrong about him.  Which made the prospect of finding out exactly what was going on all the more interesting.

"Yes.  Your verbal skills are quite astounding."

There would have been a time that he would have probably found that to be brusque, and even offensive, but Lily knew somehow that he would realize that that was just way she spoke, and if they were going to attempt a friendship, then he would just have to get used to it.

"Hmm.  So I've been told."  He looked at her for a moment and she looked back.  Neither said anything for a few seconds.

"Er, Lily, I actually did want to speak to you about something.  Well two things actually.  For starters, I think some of the points you jotted down on that list are great ideas."

She raised her eyebrows in satisfied surprise.  "Oh, which ones?"

"I really liked the one about getting got know the younger students.  It just makes _sense_.  I even got some of the other guys to do it."

Lily felt a small sense of pride and hope just then.  It wasn't just that someone else had thought that her idea was worthwhile; she _knew_ they were.  But the fact that it was the notoriously self-satisfied James Potter that said it, and that he had actually taken the time to talk about it with others was definitely something to be said for.  It showed Lily that he was actually serious about his Head Boy duties.

She smiled.  "Good.  Then we'll have to bring it up at the next Prefect meeting."  She scribbled a note to herself on the corner of a page.

"Isn't that your essay you're writing on?"

"Nope," she said distractedly without looking up.  "Just a my second draft."

He gave a small snort that Lily knew was in reality suppressed laughter.  She looked up from her notes.  "What?"

"Nothing.  It's just that you make drafts…"

Lily didn't say anything.  She didn't particularly feel an irresistible urge to go through the details of her compulsive study habits just then.  

He cocked his head to the side, opened his mouth, and then closed it again.  He wore a bemused expression, as though he was trying to find the right words with which to say something, but he didn't know how.

"Er, Lily…"

"Hmm?"

"I was wondering if I could ask a favor of you."

"Sure.  What is it?"

"Well…"  He scratched the back of his head and ruffled his hair.  "I, er…"  He removed his glasses and began to clean them with a bit of his robe.  Whatever he was trying to say, it was obviously a rather touchy subject. 

"Is it about Sirius?"  He looked up with raised eyebrows.  She gave an abashed smile.  "Sorry, but it's really rather clear that there's something not quite right where he's concerned."

He rubbed his eyes.  He looked exhausted.  "Noticed it, have you?"

"Hard not to."  She narrowed her eyes inquisitively.  "What do you want me to do?"

He replaced his glasses and shifted in his seat uncomfortably.  She could tell that had there been any other option, he most probably would _not_ have gone to her for help just yet. 

"Well we – Remus, Peter, and I – thought that maybe Sirius is acting the way he is just because he takes everything over the top.  You know.  He throws a party…"

"And I wind up retrieving objects from the ceiling due to a rampant flock of Pixies."  Looking back at the incident, it was rather comical.  "I remember that one quite well."

James stared blankly.  "Right.  Anyway, so we think that Sirius is acting the way he is because he _doesn't know how _to be any less upset.  That's just the way he is."

Lily considered this.  "Yes.  It definitely makes sense."  She shifted in her seat.  "But where do I come in?"

"Ah.  Right.  So, we figured that if we distract Sirius with something else to go extreme about, it'll take his mind off of his family…at least temporarily."

It was a simple plan really, but what made it very interesting was that James was planning to use Sirius's character flaws to bend him any which way he wanted.  Lily couldn't decide if it this was brilliant or positively despicable.  "So where do I come in?"  

He leaned forward with his arms folded in front of him.  Now that he saw that she was willing to at least listen, his conversation became much more lively.  "I know you're really good at Charms, and I'm, well, let's just say that my spells leave much to be desired.  I was actually thinking of making Sirius a special kind of Loquerer."

"How special?"

He grinned.  "If I were to Charm any two objects, I would be able to transmit sounds between them?"

"Yes…"

"So if I were to do this to a pair of mirrors, do you think you could help me transmit images as well?"

            Lily felt herself becoming impressed in spite of herself.  It was certainly a challenging and innovative proposition, but not by any means was it impossible.  "Sure," she said simply.

            His eyes widened.  "Really?"

            "Of course.  You look as though you expected me to refuse."

            "Well not exactly refuse but…It's just that you've never really seemed to like Sirius all that much."

            "I don't _dislike_ him, I just sometimes -- _usually -- _find him a bit immature.  But no one deserves to be miserable for standing up for something he believes in."

            He eyed her with a look of understanding, not necessarily one that said that he knew where she was coming from, but one that told her that he was really taking what she said to heart.  "Wow…I don't know how to thank you enough."

            "Just keep everyone happy and sane, do your duties, and I'd say we could call it even."  She smiled, but them something struck her.  "I'll do it, but are you sure that it'll work?"

            James shrugged heavily.  "I'm not, but it's worth a shot.  I'm guessing that Sirius'll be pretty excited for a day or two, just enough to get his mind off of his family.  I can't tell you that he won't return back to his gloom afterwards, but by that time we're hoping that he'll tell us what's going on, or at least give us a chance to get through to him a little."

            Lily nodded.  "Everyone has someone they can confide in about different things.  Sirius is probably just waiting for the right moment or right time to talk to someone about his family."

            James pressed his palms against the table and pushed himself up into a standing position.  "I just hope he finds that someone soon."  He fluffed his hair up in the back.  "I've got to go to Quidditch practice now…Thanks for doing this Lily.  You don't know how much this means to me."

            She smiled.  "Glad to help."

            He turned to leave, but then faced her once again.  "I almost forgot.  Where should we meet?  And when?"

            Lily glanced at Mrs. Pince sitting at her desk in the front of the library.  She was already eyeing the two of them distastefully, being as they weren't sitting in total silence, but she was unable to say anything because they didn't spontaneously burst into high-pitched screams.  "I don't think we should experiment with Amplification Charms in here.  I doubt Mrs. Pince would be too thrilled with that."

            James smirked.  "Wait.  You have your own room, right?  I'd offer mine, but the guys know the password and I don't think you'll want to see all of the lovely things they leave for me to pick up…or smell."

            "Yeah, sure.  It's behind the statue of Orpheus on the third floor.  I'll meet you there at seven tomorrow…If it's all the same to you, I don't really think it's a such a good idea to give you my password."

            His neck flushed a little.  "Oh, yeah.  Absolutely."

            He gave a sharp wave with his hand.  "I'll be seeing you.  Thanks again."  And with that, he turned and strolled to the exit.

            Lily watched after him with a satisfied expression.  If anyone had told her a year or two ago that she would be plotting with James Potter to boost the spirits of Sirius Black, she would have called that person delirious.  But it was true.  She had just had a polite, friendly conversation with James.  And it was kind of nice.

*   *   *

            James's plan would have had no chance whatsoever of succeeding if Sirius actually knew how his family was reacting to his absence.  He would have been scandalized and demoralized, and irrevocably so.  Because the Black family was taking Sirius's disownment perfectly fine.

            In fact, at that moment, Mr. and Mrs. Black were entertaining a few cousins at a dinner party.  There were seven seated around the table: the host and hostess of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, Silas and Nephele Black, Mrs. Black's cousins, Melampus and Araminta Meliflua, Mr. Black's brother and sister-in-law, Lazarus and Niobe Black, and their daughter Narcissa Malfoy, who arrived unaccompanied by her husband because he was out of town on business.  Two of the Melifluas' children were there as well, a boy and a girl, but they weren't at the table; they preferred running around the house in some sort of chase.  A petite white poodle sat obediently at Nephele's side; occasionally Nephele would reach down to pet her on the head.

            "It's really quite comical, these elections," said Niobe.  "The candidates are perfectly incompetent in every respect; I find it amusing to see what strings of meaningless bombast they will begin to spew next."

            Melampus held up a hand.  "Now, now, Niobe.  I wouldn't go so far as to say that _all_ of the candidates are hopelessly inept.  That Adolfo Hitt seems to have the right ideas.  He'll be sure to crack down on the mass proliferation of Mudbloods admitted into wizarding society."

            "Oh, absolutely," said Nephele with enthusiasm.  "He'll have my vote for certain."  She looked at the door that led into the kitchen and called harshly, "We're waiting, Kreacher!"

            "Yes, Mistress, Kreacher is coming right away!" came a hoarse shout from the kitchen.  

            Nephele shook her head disapprovingly.  "Tsk tsk.  Those House Elves are gradually having poorer punctuality every day.  Honestly."

            There was suddenly a great shout from the next room over and a young girl of about seven years of age burst in through the door, panting.  She was not dressed in her robes; she wore a loose fitting smock tucked into breeches that came below her knees.  She wore a simple hat was on her head and buckled shoes were on her feet.  She sprinted down the length of the dining room, looking behind her as another figure burst through the door.

            It was a boy, and judging from his height he was about ten years old.  He had taken an old black stocking and had cut two holes near the foot; he wore this on his head as a mask.  He chased the girl down the room, brandishing a plain stick of wood ferociously.  Both were screaming in delight.  "Take that, you Mudblood!"

            "Walter!  Marian!" said Araminta sternly, having to raise her voice over her children's shouts.  "What have I told you about running in the house?"

            Silas looked after his cousins fondly.  "Oh, let them have fun, Araminta.  You're only young once."

            "Yes, yes.  Of course."

            The door of the kitchen creaked open and Kreacher emerged, precariously balancing a tray loaded with meats and interesting salads in each hand and a bowl of roasted potatoes on his head.  He began circling the table, filling up the guests' plates.  It was rather remarkable to watch, if anyone had cared.  Kreacher, when dishing from one platter, would balance both trays on one outstretched arm so as to make his other hand available for spooning into the dishes on the table.  The bowl of potatoes teetered to and fro, but never fell.

            "Yes, so as we were discussing, Hitt will undoubtedly receive my vote as well," said Melampus as he carefully cut his meat into tiny pieces.  "Purging the Ministry of Impure workers is something he will most definitely advocate.  Of course, he is quite the diplomat, so he will have to introduce his plans slowly.  But though the process will be gradual, I have no doubt that it will be com[lately worthwhile in the end."  He stacked four morsels of meat and speared it with his fork.  "After all, you know what they say.  'The end justifies the means.'"  He placed the fork and his mouth and slid the meat off with his teeth. 

            "And we can't forget my proposition," added Araminta.  "I've already brought up the suggestion to legalize Muggle-hunting.  The head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports wasn't especially keen on the idea.  But I have full faith that should Hitt come to office, he will allow it in an instant."

            "Oh, I don't know, Araminta," said Nephele, stroking the top of the poodle's fluffy head.  "I'm not saying that you haven't got the right idea, but what you're proposing is a bit extreme, don't you think.  After all, Muggles may seem highly uncivilized, but we wizards aren't _cannibalistic_."  She gave a false laugh and glanced at her watch.  "Kreacher!" she hollered at the door.  "Where is Merlin's food?  I think he's getting hungry."  She cooed the dog.  "You're hungry, aren't you my little Merlin?"  

            "Speaking of the current Muggle crisis, have their been any more attacks recently?" asked Niobe.  "I haven't had much time to read the _Prophet_ lately."  She calmly sipped a bit of wine.

            "No, Mother," said Narcissa.  "Authorities say that the Dark Lord has been busy with something else in the meantime."  At the disgruntled look of her mother she hastily added, "Not that He is abandoning the problem, but at the present, He is working on a greater project."

            "Well?"  Silas leaned forward anxiously, gripping his fork and knife anxiously.  "You sound like you know something."

            "Yes," said Narcissa composedly.  "Lucius does have his connections.  And those connections say that apparently, the Dark Lord is assembling an army."

            "What sort of army?"

            Narcissa lifted one shoulder.  "I don't know, but personally, I find the suspense rather delicious."  The corners of her lips turned up in the faintest traces of a smile.

            "Kreacher!" snapped Nephele at the House Elf.  "I specifically asked you to give Merlin veal!  You know that his stomach is too delicate for steak!"  

            "Of course, Mistress," grumbled Kreacher with a low bow to the ground.  "Kreacher apologizes, Mistress."  He took Merlin's bowl and hurried back into the kitchen.

                        Another piercing shriek sounded in the background.  Without warning, Marian burst through the door dramatically and trudged slowly to the opposite side of the room.  She was panting heavily until she could stand no longer and collapsed against a wall.

            Walter chose that moment to slink through the doorway and jump in front of his sister's piercing form.  "Ha!  Mudblood!  You think you can run from me?  You can _never _defeat the Dark Lord's noble servants!"  He made wild movements with the stick in his hand and then brought it crashing down as he shrieked, "_Avada Kedavra_!"

            Marian clutched at her heart for a moment and then pretended to fall lifeless to the floor.

            Walter lowered his arm.  There was silence for a few moments.  Then Melampus burst out laughing.  The others soon joined in.

            Melampus motioned for his children to come sit by him.  "Come here, you two."

            Walter sauntered over to his father's side.  "Did you see that, Dad?  Did you see the way I moved my wand?  Huh?"  Melampus clapped him lightly on the back as Marian plopped into his lap.  "Sure did."

            Marian looked indignant.  She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pouted deeply.  "It's not fair.  Walter always wins."

            Melampus laughed and tousled her hair.  "That's alright.  You're just making your game more realistic then.  Because in real life, the Death Eater always wins."

**Author's Note:** Well, if you're all freakishly disturbed by that last scene, then I did my job.  Sorry about the long delay.  I could give my usual string of excuses, but I think that would be highly tedious, so I merely offer a humbly apology to all and special thanks to those of you who reviewed:

**Sarah Lee** – Ah, my friend.  You're hysterical, first of all, did you know that?  You gave yourself a trademark!  Ha!  I'm glad you like the story so far.  I'm just warning you, it might be a good idea to read the fifth book before reading any more of this.  It gives away quite a lot.  See you on Monday (by which time I will be thoroughly pooped from a long vacation weekend spent doing Model U.N. and chemistry.  Uch, I hate chemistry!)

**Lotrfreek** – Well, here it is.  After weeks of being yelled at by you to "Add, Elana!!!" here it is.  Hope you're satisfied!

**Alya1989262** – I actually didn't think of that interpretation of the title, though I do have about five or six others if you're interested.  But I like yours very much.  It's very sweet.  And I'm glad you think my characters are realistic.  That's my main focus in my writing.  This is really a bit of practice for me so hopefully one day I'll be able to write a book or two myself.  Thanks for your support.

You like my name?  Thanks.  I just have to point out that it's "Elana" not "Elena," although I like that one too.  It's just that both my first and last names are rather unusual and are forever being misspelled and mispronounced, so I'm a bit touchy.  (If anyone was wondering, my name rhymes with "piranha." Morbid, I know, but it's the only word I could think of.)

**Trinity Day** – I agree.  I'm sure that I would hide behind a bush too, but I was trying to show Peter's character in contrast to James's.  Peter is "loyal" (that's meant to be ironic), but only to a certain point.  Whereas James is so completely devoted to his friends that he can't imagine not jumping in to help them, even at the risk of his own life.

I'm also glad you liked my Snape bits.  I'm still not quite sure how I'm going to stick them in.  I think I'll make it rather illogical and out of order since he's just jotting down his random thoughts as they come to him…Don't know, but I'm glad they're somewhat well written.  I gave it to my friend to read before I uploaded it, and she thought it sounded rather pompous.  I mean, it does, but so long as it isn't bombast, right?

 **Flowing-starlight** – You're right.  James and Sirius _are_ much more complicated than I had originally planned.  I didn't initially think that they would be so unpredictable; they're characters just kind of snuck up on me.  But I did mean it when I said that the two of them are easier to write than Dumbledore.  James and Sirius are just confusing teenagers; to write Dumbledore, I have to pretend to be eccentric and sage.  It's kind of odd, really.  But thanks very much!

**Zenith Meridian** – Wow.  I'm flattered beyond words.  Really.  And that nearly _never_ happens to me, so thanks.

Yeah, Snape's a tricky one.  I never really thought of him as pure evil, because I think that one, any person who can make such a self-redemption as to earn the trust and respect of Albus Dumbledore couldn't be half-bad, and two, regardless of what others may think, babies are born innocent.  They have to be taught or influenced.  There obviously has to be some reason behind Snape's character.  That's what I'm trying to show.  I don't see him as a –I believe this is your phrase- fallen angel, but more like a pathetic creature who has never had a chance to rise.

And no, I haven't read Dante or Dostoyevsky, but I'd probably love it.  One of my favorite authors is George Orwell, and he writes about hell on earth, so hell itself is sure to be loads of fun!

**Silent Masquerade** – First off, I love your name.  Secondly, thank you so much!  It's interesting that people say they like the idea of a fight between Remus and Sirius, because it wasn't planned beforehand whatsoever.  I think I just decided that they should have a little squabble about five seconds before I wrote it down.  But it was a good thing that I did, because it left me with the basically the whole premise of this chapter.  And you're right; Sirius _is_ confusing, but hopefully now his character is clearer.  I didn't actually think of the idea myself.  The entire time I was reading OotP, I couldn't help but feel that Sirius always took everything to the extreme, so I just played off of J.K. Rowling.  Thanks!

**DolphinAnimagus** – Yes, Thalia is the Muse of Comedy.  The Grace of Good Cheer also bears that name.  I thought both qualities were equally appropriate.

**InkBlotch** – Yes, the title was inspired, but not in the way that you might think.  It happened in reverse.  I was inspired to write this story when I was listening to the words of "Music of the Night" from Phantom.  Read them if you get the chance; I think you'll see what I mean.  And then about five others themes from the book stemmed off of the title as well.  

Thank you to all.  I'd like to promise that I'll have the next chapter ready within three weeks, but that is just utterly impossible, so I have to honestly say that I have no idea when I'll be able to upload the next segment.  Please don't get mad…I have enough things going on in my life to occupy about three people, so I'll just have to write when I get the chance.  Thank you for reading and please review.  Those little snippets of flattery or scorn make my day!  Thanks!   


	8. The First Note Sounds

Disclaimer: In the spirit of the copyright law (of which I nearly have the entire thing memorized…grr…debate…grr), I hereby announce that I do not own situations, or any characters written about in any of the Harry Potter books.

Author's Note: Hi all! I'm still alive and kicking, so fear not. Lengthy apologies for the wait. Debate, finals, a whole lot of sleepless nights and some pretty awful slabs of writer's block. So, um, that's my excuse. Sorry.

Anyway, just a few words before this chapter. First, I've changed the genre of this story because there really hasn't been anything remotely romantic happening yet and I feel deceitful classifying this as such for all those that want to read fluff. As it is, this chapter in particular gets a bit angsty. Second, in order to fully understand the turn the story will be taking (and the strange workings of my mind), I advise everyone to read the poem I posted entitled 'The Paradigm of Evil.' It stemmed from a rather morbid obsession I have with the Pied Piper. It's very important to read it because otherwise this chapter will just seem infested for no reason.

And for anyone who cares, a big thank you goes to my buddy Sarah for reviewing me seven times under six different pseudonyms, begging me to update. And to PrincessofBarzel, without whom the first scene would not have been written. Here's to you:

**Music of the Night**

**Chapter 8: The First Note Sounds**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_ Thank you so much for the air freshener. It's so much more convenient than using various spells to improve the rather strange odors in the dormitory. That, of course, does not necessarily mean that Thalia hasn't been trying to experiment…but suffice it to say that she's always had ghastly results. So thank you for providing me with the means to make her quests for french vanilla scent much more attainable without leaving me to do the charms myself, thereby causing her to become rather offended. _

_ Speaking of Thalia, she has been positively giddy over the last week due to the upcoming birth of her new niece or nephew. (Not that she wasn't always giddy – you've seen her on numerous occasions and have needed your sanity replenished – but now she's even peppier than usual.) I personally think it's wonderful that she and her sister-in-law are so close. Andromeda's family disowned her after she ran off with Thalia's brother. I remember the whole scandal quite well…but I don't think you'll be much interested in that. _

_ As for the other girls in the dormitory, things are sailing rather smoothly. Karen had been a bit put-out for a few days because the Quidditch match against Hufflepuff had been postponed to some time later this autumn due to Gryffindor's failure to find a Chaser while Patrick Beauragard is unconscious in the Hospital Wing after being hit in the head by a jinxed armoire. Thalia was a bit upset too; she's a passionate Quidditch fan and an even more passionate Gryffindor. In her misery she led the four of us in a round of mournful WWI songs. She wanted me to strum along, but I refused. Much as I love her, at a certain point, I just stop indulging in her antics. Hannah's sweet as always, of course, but I wouldn't expect anything less of her. I've been talking to her a bit about the Ministry. Her father works for the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I have no interest in that particular field, but she has a fair understanding of the political system in general, so she's had some very useful information. I'm thinking about perhaps joining the Law Enforcement or the Department of Mysteries. They just sound very intriguing. Ah, I don't know, but I don't have to make a definitive decision for another few months yet._

_ And Daddy, I thought you'd be interested to know about the latest photograph that Hannah got from her father. Apparently, some wizard in Eastern Europe thought he might have a bit of amusement and crossbreed birds and dragons. Well, I don't know about the danger that the product might reek upon its entire habitat, but it certainly looks rather funny. It strongly resembles a featherless chicken that breaths fire. Honestly. And the picture moves. I'll have to see if Hannah can get a double. No doubt you'd love to get a glimpse of it._

_ I'm working hard of course. I'm taking about five N.E.W.T. level classes plus a few others on the side. Although, knowing myself, even if I were only taking one simple course I'd still be wearing myself ragged. Not to worry. I like working. It keeps my mind off of things._

_ Oh, and I couldn't possibly forget to mention Head Girl duties as well. My job for the most part is very agreeable. Some of the Prefects (namely Slytherins) aren't particularly pleased with the prospect of answering to a Muggle-born, but I say it's revolutionary. Everyone else is extremely supportive of me. In particular the Head Boy, James Potter. When I first heard that he had been appointed to the position I had been rather horrified; now I humbly stand corrected. James Potter used to be the quintessence of superciliousness, and while he's still rather proud, he no longer hexes innocent students on a whim, and he's actually rather pleasant. We've been working together on a project of a different sort for a few weeks now, and I am proud to announce that we get along rather well. You would like him, Daddy. He has one of those minds that you wish you could pick apart but can't because its wiring is much too complex. Some of the things that come out of his mouth really make me think…probably because our outlooks on life are so totally different and I've never really considered philosophies such as the ones he presents. Some are rather disturbing as a matter of fact, but I'm too tired to go through them right now. I am currently experiencing yet another bout of crazed insomnia. Or maybe it's just a continuous bout that never ends, but simply pauses for brief periods of time, leading me to believe that it is in actuality comprised of separate segments._

_ That said, keep safe and warm. And don't worry too much about that rat-infestation that I've been reading about in the papers. Just remember that the old wives' tale that rats like cheese is just a myth; put peanut butter in the traps instead._

_ All my love, and give Petunia and Vernon my regards, _

_ Lily_

Lily put her pen down next to her letter read it critically. The light and content tone in which it was written did not convey emotions and events anywhere near to the ones she was experiencing just then. Only that morning, two gray owls bearing envelopes of the bleakest shade of colorlessness had glided into the Great Hall. They were for the three McDougal children and their cousin, a fourth-year. Their parents had all been sitting down at the dinner table when they were shocked by the Apparation of two Death Eaters into the dining room. Details of the story were sparse, and the only definite pieces of information in circulation were that both of the McDougals were found dead, glassy-eyed and warm, that Mr. McDougal's brother's mangled corpse was only found in parts, with some dismembered limbs in one room and some in the other, and that his wife was currently unconscious in St. Mungo's, bleeding profusely.

What bothered Lily was not only that it happened, and so brutally, but that tomorrow that's all it would be: something that simply _happened_, that couldn't be corrected and that wouldn't be worth tearing anything apart over because now it would be just part of the normal course of events. And that it would tomorrow be just another attack, regardless of the three dead bodies and of the seemingly lifeless figure lying in a hospital bed, regardless of the four children who collapsed on the floor after Dumbledore had told them the unfortunate news, regardless of the rigid gloom that had settled over the castle that day, was unacceptable. All would be forgotten soon, until a similar catastrophe would take place, which would soon be shoved to the backs of the minds of men, still present, but forever common.

She pressed the bases of her palms into her eyes so that little stars danced in front of them and glanced at her watch. Two thirty. She pulled her blanket closer around her and shivered. The spindly flames in the fireplace had long since dimmed down to a faint glow and crackle. She expected she'd be seeing the House Elves soon.

But it wasn't a House Elf that was making its way down the staircase that led from the boys' dormitory. It was instead a rather frazzled-looking James Potter, bleary-eyed and wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts and a thin T-shirt. If Lily hadn't been so delirious at the moment she might have wondered what in the blazes he was doing awake at such an hour. But she, clad in heavy plaid flannels and thick wool socks, could only marvel at his stoic immunity to the cold.

"Hey, Lily." He stuck a hand up in the air and jerked it slightly. He paused, waiting for a response, but none came. He walked in front of her and waved a hand in front of her eyes. "You in there?"

Lily blinked twice and snapped her face up to look at James. "Yeah, sorry. I think my classes are catching up with me." She didn't dare say what she had _really _been thinking about. He would most likely say that it wasn't healthy.

He flopped down in an armchair across from her and draped his legs over one side and let his head fall over the other so that he was in a half-lying, half-sitting position. "What do you _do _this late at night? You haven't been up this whole time, have you?"

Lily gave a small abashed cough. "Er, yes."

The corner of his mouth quirked up ever so slightly, suggesting that he was waiting for her to elaborate.

"I'm about to sleep, and then I remember something. It could be an assignment, a profound thought that begs to be pondered over, a divine literary inspiration…So I do whatever it is I got up to do and can't go back to what I wanted to do in the first place, that being sleep."

"So why don't you just ever not get up?"

Lily tugged on a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. "Pardon?"

James shrugged, but did so with difficulty, being as he was nearly hanging upside-down. "When your muses call you, why don't you just say 'To the hell with them' and go to sleep?"

She pulled her blanket more tightly around her and leaned her head against the sofa. "That's a nice thought." She left the rest of the sentence – which would probably have been something along the lines of _'Cause that ain't the way it works, Jimmy_ -- hanging, although from the amused smile on James's face, she knew that it was understood.

"So what's _your_ excuse for being up this late?"

"Oh that." James grinned. "Actually, it was because Sirius wouldn't shut up."

"Really! I never thought I'd say this, but I'm glad to hear it. Is he talking at all?"

"About his family, you mean? No. Nothing. Just about all the mischief he's planning." He sat up slightly. "A year ago, I would have been thrilled. I mean, I'm still thrilled…that he's back to normal…well, that he's at least _relatively_ normal…but now it'll be my responsibility to clean up after him."

She closed her eyes and gave a weary smile. "You better believe it. Or I'll come stalking you."

"Yeah, and what do you call this?"

"An unavoidable coincidence of fate that just happened to land the two of us in the same room at two thirty in the morning. Nothing deliberate."

"How can you jam so many words together in such a weird, flowery way this late?"

She closed her eyes fully now and leaned her head against the back of the sofa. When she spoke, her voice was directed toward the ceiling. "Fact of nature. Lily Evans is of a rare breed and speaks with the air of one who permanently has her head in the clouds or elsewhere, excepting the rare cases in which she is unwillingly slammed back into reality and can't escape for the life of her."

"Oh, okay. That's nice."

Lily glanced at him for a second out of the corner of her eye and then resumed her comatose position. "Yeah, but it gets me a lot of strange looks, from yourself included."

He chuckled. "I can't deny it." There was then an awkward silence for a few seconds.

"Lily?"

"Hmm?"

"You in any state to have a thoughtful conversation right about now?"

She looked at him startled for a moment. She let one shoulder rise and fall. "As good a state as any, I suppose. But you'll probably wind up getting strange, circuitous answers that make sense to me but barely anyone else. You mind?"

"Nope."

"So shoot."

He swung his feet around and scratched the back of his head with his hand, making the back pieces of his inky hair stand up on end. She looked at him oddly for a moment. She had been spending enough time with him over the past few weeks to know that this subconscious mannerism only tended to reveal itself under one of two circumstances. The first situation was generally taking place when James was trying to impress someone else, show off his cocky self-assurance for his own personal pleasure, or enjoy looking thoroughly disheveled. Lily knew that this certainly wasn't the case; he had no one to prove anything to. And that meant that he was uneasy and slightly insecure.

Looking back at whatever snippets of dialogue they had just had, she should have realized right away that he wasn't that cheerful at the moment. Both she and he had been feigning common fatigue in place of their insomnia, but she knew that more was on both of their minds. Of course she would never let on that she found him this easy to see through. He would be positively mortified and would likely abandon all thought of their growing friendship. So instead she prompted him with her eyebrows and waited for a moment for him to begin what was sure to be a most interesting conversation.

"Ah, well I suppose it's just an issue of contradictions…Anyway, you have a Death Eater like…Bellatrix Black-"

"She's a Death Eater?" Lily opened her eyes wide with shock. As little as she was surprised to hear that Bellatrix Black had rather shady connections, she didn't think that she'd actually find a Death Eater in _Hogwarts_.

James shrugged. "I don't know. Probably. I was really just using her as an example because I couldn't think of anyone else who better fits the Death Eater mentality." He frowned. "But I wouldn't be surprised if she became one."

Lily shuddered slightly. "Right, so you were saying?"

"A Death Eater kills with no rhyme or reason, really just for the sake of killing. But someone like Sirius's cousin or that Sixth Year Slytherin, Nott, doesn't need to kill to make himself feel better. He's confident enough already, isn't he?"

Lily furrowed her brow. "Sorry. I don't follow."

James let out a sigh and bent his knees into his chest. For someone with such apparently complex thoughts, right then, he looked incredibly young. "I don't know…But if you're six or something, and someone at school is bullying you, the first thing anyone will tell you is that the bully's insecure and that lowering someone else makes him feel stronger and more important, right?"

She raised her head and nodded once in understanding. "Oh, I see where you're going. You want to know why Death Eaters need to boost their self-esteem if they clearly have such a high level of self-assurance already." She hoped she was being clear. It was odd that at an hour like this one, her nerves and brainwaves whirred and sparked uncontrollably, yet she had trouble keeping her eyes open and speaking in coherent and less-than-muffled speech.

He scratched his head. "Something like that, I guess. Yeah."

She thought for a few moments. It wasn't like she'd never considered this issue before; it's just that she'd never had to translate her thoughts into words. This was really the first time she could remember actually being _asked_ to discuss a topic of such philosophical weight and morbidity.

"Well," she said. "I think what we have to ask is what would make a person become a Death Eater, because it seems that the only type of person we're considering is one like Sirius's cousin. But I'm willing to venture to guess that most of the Wizarding world wouldn't be especially keen on letting Voldemort go through with his plans. I think most people are just afraid."

"Of course they're afraid," James said. "Wouldn't you be afraid?"

Lily involuntarily shivered. "Lord, James. I'm terrified. I'm just saying that maybe not all of Voldemort's followers are willingly carrying out his orders because of some strange misconception that what they're doing is _right_. They're probably afraid, and awe-stricken…even _impressed_. And those are the dregs that He summons, because He knows that they'll do anything to raise their status and power."

"And those are the bullies…" James gazed into the faint glow of the crackling sparks in the fireplace. Fireworks danced across the lenses of his glasses. "So then what you're really saying, is that they're…I don't know…maybe innocent, in a certain sense? And that they only go to the Dark Side because they need guidance, or because they have nowhere else to turn?"

Lily yawned. "I don't think anyone's completely absolved of all responsibility, James. No one _forced _those people to become Death Eaters." James quirked his eyebrow up slightly. "Okay," she relented, "so maybe they _are_ threatened to be killed if they don't cooperate, but there always is that option of getting killed." James looked at her in disbelief for a moment. "That's not to say that I wish any one dead," she said quickly, "but what I'm trying to say is that I don't really think that anything in the world, save the occasional natural disaster, is beyond human control or human influence. If someone is a Death Eater, it's because he _chose_ to be a Death Eater. Whether or not he realized what that would mean for the rest of the world, he accepted the conditions and willingly carried out orders."

She looked for a moment to see if he was turned toward her. He was, attentiveness and amazement etched in her face. "And as for the other type of Death Eater, the Bellatrix Black type…" She put her hands up and shrugged. "That one's still up in the air. I don't exactly think anyone could claim that she joined that cult because of her insecurities. There must be some sort of thrill involved…Your guess's as good as mine.

She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed to have drifted off over the last few seconds. "I'm not disturbing you, am I?"

"No," he said airily, "not at all. I was just thinking…I'm never going to be one of them."

"One of what? Death Eaters?"

"Well, not one of them either, but I was talking about those people. The ones who abandon all self-worth and accept a sadist like Voldemort just because he makes them feel 'special.' I'm never going to give everything up by joining him. Life's too precious to chuck like that, even though at times it does seem pointless. And if they _do_ happen to take my life away while I'm trying to save it from them, at least I won't throw it away for something I don't believe in." He set his jaw, and something made Lily feel like he was reassuring _himself_ more than he was her. He didn't seem to be speaking to anyone at all, save for his own conscience and heart.

He turned to look at her full in the face just then, and she knew without a doubt, that James Potter was completely unlike anyone she had ever met. It wasn't just the confident façade he wore to attempt to conceal his inner conflicts, and it wasn't just his unceasing desire to prove himself. It was his unquenchable curiosity, his thirst to unravel all of the secrets of the universe, the craving to delve deep into the minds of man to figure out exactly what led the world to reach its pitiful state. It was as though his very lifeline hung solely based on the prospect of unraveling the world's secrets, merely so that he could foster them and learn how to see past the woes and troubles of society. He didn't necessarily need to _do_ anything about any situation, but he had an insatiable, almost desperate urge to unlock the impetus of man, just so he could acknowledge that different things _did_ exist -- different, horrible, wonderful, perplexing things. And even if he couldn't fathom actually being dragged into such heinous actions, simply being aware of their existence and of their source gave him some comfort, because then he would be able to breathe, accept the world's undying, relentless evil, and then say 'Now let's find a way to make it better.'

Most would have turned away, naming the situation beyond human comprehension or control. They would say that to the ordinary man there was no way out, and that only the Ministry was fit to deal and to save all. They would accept willful blindness, until they themselves were personally hurt, and then they would despair completely, because they had never bothered to wonder about what torturous forces were at work.

And they wouldn't be able to cope when those forces struck.

But James wasn't one of them. His face was a swirl of emotions, but the one that dominated at the moment was determination. Whether or not he knew it, Lily saw it as clearly as she knew that he was the only person she had ever known to voice her thoughts. His interpretations of the human character were different than hers, but just the fact that he listened to what she had to say and that he contributed in return was the only source of comfort that she could gain strength from, because she knew that somehow, they really weren't that different after all.

James sighed. "You're rather cynical, aren't you?"

"Brilliant observation, Sherlock." She gave a wry smile and then frowned. "I could say the same about you, you know."

He shrugged feebly. "No you couldn't, because _my_ cynicism only comes this late at night. _Yours_ is there 24/7." He cocked his head to the side. "These wee hours of the morning really do something to my sanity, heh?"

Lily generally didn't like to make eye contact, but she felt that this occasion warranted an exception. "You're saner than the lot of them, James."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, but then lowered them almost as instinctively as he had lifted them. He nodded. "I just want to thank you, Lily. I needed to talk about this." He scratched his head. "I mean, I don't know if I'm completely satisfied with any answer…and I don't know if I ever will be, but…" He looked up with imploring, almost wretched gratitude in his eyes. "It's just comforting to know that someone else out there also wants to know about…everything." He laughed nervously. "The world really _is_ shit sometimes, isn't it?

She pretended to look shocked. "Scandalous, James. But yes, sometimes it is." She chuckled for a moment and then put her hands on her cheeks mockingly. "Oh my, is the Great James Potter actually growing up?"

He moved a finger to his lips. "I wouldn't go so far to say that, but even so, don't go spreading that around. We wouldn't want to spoil my reputation." He got up and jerked his hand in a sharp wave. "Thanks again. Get some sleep, Lily."

She thoughtfully watched him head back upstairs. And she knew that somehow, even though she was even more wired than she had been before, she was more thankful for this conversation than she could have expressed. The revelation of ideas she didn't know anyone else on Earth had and the knowledge that James Potter was much more than he seemed gave her a sort of relief. And she thought that maybe with people like James in the world, there might be some hope left for it after all.

"You guys ready?" James held up an oddly wrapped package. He looked expectant, and almost excited. After a few haphazardly scheduled meetings, he and Lily had managed to procure the spells necessary for a set of visual Loquerers and it was time to present them to Sirius. Remus had been more relieved than words could describe when he heard this news. Sirius had been nowhere near as mopey as he had been a few weeks earlier, but he certainly wasn't back to himself yet.

"Are you sure this'll work, Prongs?" Peter's eyes darted nervously back and forth between his two friends.

James shrugged. "Look. I know Sirius's isn't going to be_ completely_ normal for a little bit, but maybe he'll see these, get some wild ideas, know we still care." He brushed a piece of lint from his robes. "I'm hoping maybe he'll open up a little. We obviously _want_ to help him."

Peter nodded in ready agreement. Remus just scratched his head. "I don't know Prongs. I mean, what if he's not ready to talk?"

James leaned forward across the table they had been sitting at. It was late, and the only other students still in the Common Room were Lily, Hannah, and a couple of fourth-years gathered around a particularly lengthy game of wizard chess. "Come on Remus. Weren't you the one who commissioned this whole 'Save-Sirius's-Soul' campaign?"

Remus looked from Peter to James, worried. "Of course, but…I don't know…It just seems to good to be true. What if we're just not the ones he needs to talk to about it?"

James's eyes narrowed. "I'm not going to sit and watch him do this to himself," he said in a low voice, much too steadily.

Peter fidgeted, probably because he noticed the tinges of red that were forming on James's neck. Remus, also sensing tension in the air, got up. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go."

The three got up and made their way to the stairs at the back of the room. As Remus looked behind him at the fireplace, he could have sworn that for a fleeting second, Lily looked directly into his eyes, hoping and anticipating that everything would go smoothly. But then it was gone, and she once again continued to write on that parchment she so often carried with her.

Sirius was sitting on the window ledge when they walked in, eyeing the stars outside with an almost maniacal gleam. His lip was curled up in slight amusement -- a mischievous plot was undoubtedly underfoot. He glanced up when his friends walked in and grinned broadly. "Hey, guys. What's up?"

James looked disconcerted for a moment but then he shook his head and seemed to get a hold of himself. He grinned. "We got a little something for you." He held out the package.

Sirius rubbed his hands together and eyed the parcel. "Excellent, mate. How'd you know I love presents?" He jumped off the windowsill and grabbed the gift, tearing off the paper.

"We've been your friends for nearly seven years, Padfoot. And you like presents." James said casually, still wearing a smile that Remus couldn't help but feel might have forced. "So what do you think?"

Sirius had torn off the rest of the paper, and upon seeing what his gift actually was, his grin turned into a look of completely befuddlement. He turned the mirrors upside down. "Come on guys. Is this some kind of joke? You don't think I'm _that_ vain, do you?"

Peter snorted, trying to hold in his laughter. James shot him a fierce look out of the corner of his eye and then smiled once again. "They're Loquerers, Padfoot."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. Remus felt himself smile. "You get it Prongs? You could hear _and _see someone you're speaking with at the same time."

Sirius let the words sink in a bit, and then his eyes lit up with newfound discovery. "Holy…Do you have any idea what this could mean?"

Peter's eyes widened with curiosity.

Sirius clapped James on the back, letting out a burst of laughter. "Think of the possibilities, mate! Think of the stunts, the sneaking around! It'll be almost like having eyes in the back of your head, or a lookout even. We'd be able to talk during detentions, have fun when no one else is the wiser…" He shook his head in amazement. "Stroke of genius, this is."

James ran his hand up the back of his head. "Er, well, I'm glad you liked it, Padfoot, but I was wondering if maybe you'd like to talk a little bit?"

Sirius broke into a wide grin. "You can't really expect me to have a _tête-à-tête _now, do you? I've got to show this to Thalia." He made to go to the door. James grabbed him by the arm, now looking genuinely upset.

"Really, Sirius, I mean it. You're going through tough time now. Maybe you just want to cool down a bit, let off some steam…" His words died away pitifully. His eyes betrayed surrender, because Sirius wasn't about to reveal anything.

"Come off it, Prongs. I'm fine, really." Sirius looked pointedly at Remus. "Honest." He ten turned around and bounded down the stairs.

Remus turned to look at James, afraid of what he would see. He expected James to be frazzled, exasperated, maybe even crestfallen, but he didn't expect what was in front of him. James was literally trembling. He didn't look as though he was angry or even defeated. The only word that came to mind was…helpless. Pathetically so.

Peter noticed it too. "Prongs?"

James walked stonily to the window and stood there rigidly, silently. His stance was tall, but in a forced sort of way, as though James was trying to convince himself over and over that everything would be all right and that he could deal with his ignorance. And then for a fraction of a second, James's knee faltered and his left shoulder bent. And Remus knew that James was going to crack.

"Damn it!" James's carefully arranged form broke loose, and all that remained were the shattered fragments of a confident façade. His body leaned against the gray dormitory walls, hunched of its own accord. He pounded his fist into the stone with a sickening crack. Only once he heard the noise did he seem to be aware of what he had done, and he clutched at his fingers with his other hand; his knuckles were bleeding.

"James!" Remus stepped forward to help. He no longer felt merely anxious; now he was actually scared. James was usually the one to make light of a situation and pretend that everything was copasetic. Granted, he had an explosive temper, but never in the face of an issue like this. For James to have a breakdown was genuinely terrifying, because the ever-optimistic lifeline of the Marauders was abruptly severed, leaving its torn segments buried deep in the soft, absorbent ground.

James was still trembling, and Remus found himself hoping upon all things left to wish for that James wouldn't explode. "Prongs, this isn't like you…please, just…sit down maybe…"

"Sit down?" James whispered in horrified disbelief as his voice stretched to a startling crescendo. "You want me to SIT _DOWN_?"

Peter widened his eyes. "Prongs…"

James rounded on him suddenly. "How can you expect me to just let everything go when my best friend is so fucking unhappy? How can you just sit back and be satisfied with the fact that he isn't telling you anything? Huh?" Peter looked at the floor. He looked ashamed and abashed, but as though he almost didn't understand why.

James began pacing back and forth angrily, occasionally glaring at Remus, who refused to look away. "And I can't just let everything go because he's going to explode! But of course, he's not letting me help him because he won't _bloody tell me what's going on in that thick head of his_!"

He collapsed against the wall, shaking. Peter took a step forward, as if to try and say something to assuage James's confusion, but Remus held him back and shook his head. _Not now, Pete_, he mouthed.

Peter looked at him with desperation, trying to motion in James's direction, silently asking how Remus could just stand by and watch, how he could do exactly what James was reproaching them for doing. Remus knew though, that Sirius wasn't James, because while Sirius got upset when he felt that _others_ could not possibly comprehend his distress, James tended to thrash out when he didn't understand his own.

James looked up from the floor and gazed sullenly out at the stars. His hair was down below his eyes; his face was half-concealed by a shadow. The pallid moonlight washed gently over the Hogwarts grounds and thousands of tiny specks of sparkle dotted the sky, glinting and pulsing in their steady, eternal rhythm. "I wish things were the way they used to be…" he whispered, seemingly unconsciously, as though only the stars in heaven could hear his words.

Remus looked past the head of his friend, and past the faint mist of gray suspended across the moon. He would let James be for the time being; there was nothing he could do at the moment. The sensation he felt just then was indescribably different than the one he had experienced when Sirius first retreated into seclusion. Then he had been the cause; now the cause was unknown.

Remus knew that that was exactly what had James torn apart right then – the absence or intangibility of anything foreign to blame. And even though Remus would have given up anything just to see his friends happy again, he resigned himself to the unhappy realization that sometimes there was nothing that he could do and that sometimes there was no one to cure a person's melancholy other than that person himself.

It is a most unnerving and peculiar sensation to discover that one's entire code of observation and discernment into the characters and minds of men might just possibly be completely flawed.

_I am speaking, of course, of my views of my "fellow Slytherins." I state that with the use of sardonic quotation marks, because the condition of brotherhood has always been a foreign concept to my mind. To me, the term "house" has always been rather loosely defined. I experience no camaraderie, nor do I feel bound to the others of my dorm. In fact, the only conceivable reason that comes to mind for my endurance in this dungeon is my loyalty not to my house, but to Salazar Slytherin himself. He, the Greatest of the Hogwarts Four, is what sustains me and encourages me throughout every moment of desperation and difficulty. It is he who fuels my desire to prove myself. It is for him that I strive to achieve._

_It has recently been called to my attention a possibility for the base of all antagonistic feelings harbored (or previously harbored – this topic will be discussed shortly) by other students, of my own house included. I believe it is my determination and its foreign, transcendent source that frightens them. There are, I believe, very few to whom are attributed the exact qualities most revered by the noble Founders. Some might possess a compilation of various traits selected from throughout the spectrum of Hogwarts students. However, I believe it is rather rare to find someone who holds within him a fire so bright, a fire that physically _burns _its vessel with nearly tangible determination and resourcefulness. It is that purity of heart that I believe I can truthfully call my own that frightens others away._

_The only other I can summon to mind that personifies all the Salazar Slytherin stood for is Bellatrix Black, who also happens to be my purpose in writing today. I had always felt that I had accurately discerned and evaluated her character. She has always been a Slytherin to the core, if I may say so freely without fear of being accused of stereotyping. I do not feel that I am guilty of stereotyping in the slightest, because she is not what most would likely consider to be a conventional Slytherin. Slytherins are often associated with bitterness of disposition, a general contempt for those that do not strive to prove themselves, and an intense abhorrence for anything remotely Muggle. Though Bellatrix Black does possess the latter, I do not feel that these qualities accurately depict all that Salazar Slytherin stood for, and furthermore, continues to stand for today, regardless of what most others would be misled to think. _

_Bellatrix Black is not unlike myself. She is a shrewd, careful observer. She meticulously weighs all sides of a situation before forming an opinion or objective. She does not speak very much, but when she does, all revere her words. And with that last point, I believe the similarity stops. When _she _speaks, everyone gathers to absorb every pearl of wisdom that flows from her lips. When _I _speak, I subconsciously form a barrier around myself, though my thoughts are of equal importance and truth. My theory perhaps is that we both view the world as it is, though while I tell it as I see it, she contrives her speech in such a way as to make her listeners feel that they _too_ see it just as she does, and so they have all along._

_She never speaks unnecessarily, nor does she raise her voice. When passing someone she disapproves of in the corridors, she does not sneer or snicker with her fellow dorm mates. She merely strides past coldly, sometimes with a deadly, yet modest glare, but more often in complete indifference._

_I denounce all of those ignoramuses who feel that proper Slytherin pride entails jibing Gryffindors and Muggle-borns. If anything, such behavior grossly contradicts everything that the Serpent stands for. How could anyone sincerely think that Salazar Slytherin could have acted as such? For someone to be such a prominent figure of society, one needs to have friends in high places, authoritative influences, and the support of the populace. In all honesty and reason, could Salazar Slytherin have possibly achieved such a high level of social hierarchy if he loudly and brazenly announced to all exactly how much he reviled a large percentage of Wizarding kind? One thing is certain; he most definitely would not have been named the fourth Hogwarts Founder._

_But I digress. I suppose anyone presently reading this would be at a loss for any possible qualms I should have about befriending her and for the befuddling source of the animosity that has existed between us these past six years. _

_It is imperative to be aware of the situation in order to understand this relationship. Bellatrix Black is revered as a goddess in the Slytherin House. She is from a highly connected family, descended from a long line of prominent Sytherins. Her great-great-grandfather, I believe was a former headmaster of this very school. Her relations, her pride, and her suaveness all make for excellent reasons for her worshipers to bestow upon her the lavishing attention that they all assume she deserves._

_However, in what seems like good-natured fun, the underdog is never left untouched._

_ Bellatrix Black has never appeared very fond of yours truly, and so her entourage has always regarded me with loathing and contempt. Why am I the underdog? Because she says so. Bellatrix Black: the woman with the ability to raise you up to have the capacity to walk on air, the one who may preach and spread glory and wonderment to all with whom she associates, the sacrosanct divinity that stands for all that _is_ Slytherin. But she is also the one who, by lack of association accompanied with a few disparaging glances, may alienate someone to the point of complete isolation and depression._

_ I have never considered myself to be of the dross of society. I was never one to lower myself to the level of the diseased and disturbed. I would never on my own label myself the underdog. But that is what Bellatrix Black has made me, and so shall I remain until she chooses otherwise._

_ Be that as it may, these past few weeks of observant contemplation have bore an indelible impression in my mind, the realization that no consistency exists and that contradictions are inevitable. It perhaps started with the glance that Bellatrix paid me over her morning toast, or possibly even with the rather uncalled-for greeting she bestowed upon my humble self in the corridor. But regardless of when the madness began, it soon precipitated into a slew of conversations and compliments. My knowledge of the Dark Arts and of Potions might be to blame; I cannot be certain. The only point that I _am_ sure of though, is that my faith in human character, however tenuous it may have been, has proven to be grossly misconstrued._

_ My cynicism lies not with Bellatrix Black. I cannot discern any fathomable reason for her less than hostile expressions other than selfishness, because she somehow fervently needs something I have to offer her, something that is not attainable from any other source, because she would only associate with yours truly under the direst of circumstances. What it is that she is looking for I do not know. But it undoubtedly exists. I do not think this assumption to be skeptical; I merely believe it to be true._

_ Where my true errors lie is with the followers, with the lowly, mindless scum with no opinions to speak of. The pitiful creatures that have opened up a small window of acceptance to allow for some minor association with myself. They are as capricious as the moon's cycle, and only act as such on the whim of Bellatrix Black. They are all the same, all of them: male, female, tall, thin, solid, smug, and narrow-eyed. They are all identical; no physical features help to differentiate between their pitiful forms because they all wear the same sycophantic expressions. They all chase after the same unattainable fantasies. They all simultaneously thrive in boisterous company while living lonely, meaningless existences. They are all blank slates, waiting to be written upon, because they have no ink of their own._

_ This is my revelation; this is my curse. I cannot resolve nor expect to be rid of it, but can only turn to hope, because certainty is nonexistent._

_ -S.S. _

A small white rat scuttled along the forest ground, beady eyes kept at a low level, sniffing the moist earth for signs of long-forgotten scraps of anything edible. It brushed across several coarse, fallen leaves, leaves that crinkled spookily in the stillness of the crisp October evening.

The rat was so intent on its quest for food that it failed to notice three tall, thin figures striding past its nest, shrouded in cloaks of death-imbued black, hooded and masked. They moved securely, with a sense of ill, almost defiant purpose.

They were out in the open air now; the quaint little wood in the French countryside was not nearly spacious enough for any sort of the work that needed to be accomplished. A light whisper of wind brushed across the hems of the figures' robes; they whipped suddenly. The combined motions of the air and the figures' powerful, silent strides swirled the black fabric around in curling ripples. A mighty fortress stood a slight distance away, its dominant, unsuspecting turrets dark and shadowed.

One of the forms, undoubtedly the leader of the three, stretched out his wand and uttered a few choice words. A haze of lush jade smoke snaked out from its tip in twisted tendrils of mist. The flimsy particles slowly drifted together and then condensed, forming the visage of a sickening skull, hovering loosely a few feet about the ground.

The third man, one of a slightly stockier build than the other two, questioned his head of operations. "What've you got that for, Lestrange?"

"Don't be thick," said the first man tersely. "You heard the Dark Lord just as I did. When the sign is given, we enter the castle, snatch the girl, modify a few memories, exit seamlessly, and present the wretch to His Lordship."

"And the skull…?"

"The _sign,_ Crabbe. An attentive and competent Death Eater is much more successful than a blundering idiot. You should do well to remember that." The figure never turned around to directly address the man with whom he was speaking; his eyes were fixed unwaveringly on the scintillating image before him. His voice never grew louder, nor did it betray any emotion. The choice of words and the caustic blandness with which it spoke penetrated far deeper than any knife could. If a knife induced blazing, bubbling, pain, then Lestrange's tone pierced like a thousand shards of freezing, fine ice.

"Yes…" said Crabbe, somewhat abashed. "I will."

"Excellent."

They waited silently for a few minutes more, occasionally glancing in the direction of the castle for any signs of unusual movement. There was none. The lone rat scuttled across the second man's boot, circling back in its endless spiral of a path, seemingly devoid of destination. The skull glowed brighter, tinged with silver, enhanced by moonlight. A single serpent oozed out from the gaping hole where the nonexistent corpse's mouth should have been. It emitted a low, sizzling hiss, which then turned into a faint whistle. The rat picked its head up suddenly, as if entranced. It cocked its head to the side, a mannerism very uncharacteristic for a rodent, and then it streaked off towards the woods, heading north.

"It's time," Lestrange said gruffly, and he led the other two men up to the noble doorway of the castle.

The figures set off silently down the path. The second man's eyes darted from side to side. Out of the corner of his vision, a small patch of black whipped itself around the stately castle walls. It was the cloak of a fellow Death Eater. The reinforcements had arrived.

Lestrange stepped up in front of the door and hammered on it three times with a forceful fist. The bangs echoed listlessly in the room beyond.

"_Une minute_," called a voice from inside. There was a fumbling of a lock, and then the door creaked slowly open. "_Biens ven_-" the old woman's voice slowly trailed off as she spotted the three dark shapes in the doorway.

"Good evening," Lestrange said smoothly, although he was in no mood to make small start, as the other two men stepped inside and stood behind the woman. "We have come for a certain student. Cooperate and no one will get hurt. Should anyone protest, we will attack." Crabbe held the woman's arms behind her back with one massive hand and covered her mouth with the other. She strained against his grasp, but in vain.

In one swift movement, Lestrange pulled out his wand and pointed it at the woman's chest. "Now if you would be so kind as to direct me to the Great Hall?"

A passerby would not have looked twice at the castle under usual circumstances. But that night, there was a piercing scream that shot through the sky, penetrating the heavens. Shrieks and shouts were soon echoing through the wood, seeping deep into the earth's very core. The wind carried the cries to the royal expanse of sky where the stars watched in agony as the degeneration of consistency began.

They began to weep in torrent floods, summoning the ethereal lightning flashes to strike down, illuminating the sky with first white, and then green light. The castle was brightened with radiance just then, streams of green, purple, and scarlet, molten jets ricocheting off of walls and stones. The screams and cries intensified, and the stars wailed when the first body fell down dead.

And then the colored flashes stopped; only white lit up the sky before rumbling drums sounded in the distance. The three figures burst open the door and stormed out. One was carrying the limp body of a young girl. Six other pillars of black Apparated beside them.

Lestrange was striding ahead of the others; his steps were angry, but his voice still remained apathetic. "You _had_ to attack, didn't you, Karkaroff?"

"The old man tried to stop me," said a weak, obsequious voice from underneath one of the hoods.

"Killing one man," said Lestrange with disdain, "is entirely different than attacking schoolchildren who were supposed to remain unharmed. The Dark Lord will not be pleased with you, Karkaroff. He does not like to be disobeyed."

Karkaroff said nothing. The mob just kept marching onward toward the wood, where they would then Apparate to the graveyard on the hill.

Two gray rats followed into the trees, and the stars shone brightly in the sky, as if determined to last onward and forever, through any strange twist of fate.

**Author's Note**: Ahem. So, uh, that was _interesting_, to say the least. The song at the end _was_ Pink Floyd's "Eclipse" from _Dark Side of the Moon_ until I was forced to remove it. Hmph. This chapter was kind of rushed at the end. I wanted to get it out by the end of next week because I'm leaving for London this weekend and then I start play practice when I get back and if I didn't do it now then I probably wouldn't get around to it for another month and a half or so. So let me know if it's still okay or if I should redo it a little bit later. And about the dialogue. Corny? Too solemn? Please let me know. And if anyone has any questions, please feel free to drop me a line via e-mail (just put something along the lines of 'fanfiction' in the subject heading).

Thanks to my wonderful reviewers:

**Alya1989262** – Glad you liked the end. To tell the truth, I was a bit spooked out by myself when I finished reading it.

**Vamperfly** - Aw, thank you so much. I'm glad you can picture Lily's personality. I think the hardest part to write of this particular story is probably the characterization because one, it's what I care about the most, and two, I think that I was a bit too impetuous when I decided what these characters would be like. I had a basic idea of course, but then they just kind of…ran away with the plot. I hope the characters are consistent in this chapter. Thanks!

**LimeJuiceTub** - Oh wow, thank you so much. I'm glad the characters seem real. They're actually based on people I know (and James is my dream guy! J ).

**Twinklystars** – I first got your review when I was in the computer room at school. My friend was reading over my shoulder and when she saw your user name she cracked up. Very cute. Yeah, isn't "Music of the Night" wonderful? The only bad thing is that I can't listen to it if anyone other than Michael Crawford sings it (I have about four or five different Michael Crawford versions of the song by the way). And for Model U.N. I get to represent Kuwait. On the topic of terrorism. _Interesting_…

**Lotrfreek** - It's interesting that you say that. The last scene was actually written with the Nazis in mind, but I guess it portrays a much more universal picture. I think I'm just against totalitarianism in general. Ah, well, knowing me, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that politics managed to get stick itself in this story.

**MissBlueEyes** - I'm so touched. Thanks so much!

**PrincessofBarzel** - Hey there! Did that first scene look familiar? Thanks for that. After our conversation I had a sudden burst of inspiration to write something that was morbid and severely insomnia-induced. Would it be all right if I used your quicksand metaphor at some point? I loved that one. Oh, and that whole "I judge you by how you are now thing" _was_ from a Rashi we learned last year. And I seem to have slipped in some Ecclesiastes in here too…I'm on a role here.

Congrats for being the only one to pick up on the Nazi innuendoes. I didn't think it would be too hard to figure out…I named the guy Adolfo Hitt for goodness sake. Well, I guess we're from the same tribe then. ; ) (You should probably be very afraid) Shkoyach for sticking Josh Groban into your review. I think my obsession has taken a violent turn and has landed me even deeper into it. Ah, well. I think I'll use "You Raise Me Up" at some point. After all, what self-respecting Grobanite wouldn't? I have a scene in mind, actually…

And you know that I would like nothing better than to play a duet with you on the bagpipes, but first I'm trying to convince my parents to let me learn clarinet. Like that'll ever happen. I think I'll go to Sam Ash soon and pick up a harmonica instead. And about your obsession with fictional characters – Don't worry. You're forgetting that I've had a crush on Gilbert Blythe for the past five years. I _tried_ to be happy when he and Anne got married, I _did_. Anyway, _you_ have to write a story now so I can write you ultra-long reviews. Luv ya! Mwa!

**Flowing-starlight** - I'm glad you liked that last scene. I kind of got the chills myself. And about the spelling, if I had a nickel for every time I used the backspace key, I'd make Bill Gates look like a pauper. So you're in good company.

**Nanaba** - You're right. It _is_ fun writing a story when everyone knows that Lily and James will eventually end up together. Of course, that means I get to tease everyone and drag out the tension between the two of them for as long as possible, since the end is obvious. Hee hee. I love being evil.

Ah! I'm leaving Saturday night! And now I can actually say that definitely, since I completed my end of the ultimatum my mother set up condemning me to clean up my room before I set foot on the plane. Of course, the tickets are non-refundable, so I would have gone anyway, but you know. I'll take lots of pictures for you. Enjoy vacation!

**Silverspinner** – You changed your name _again_? I'm really having trouble keeping track of you, you know. Although this one's very interesting…kind of reminded me of Rumplestilskin. Ack, can't spell that.

Yes, Snape certainly is tricky. And now I've succeeded in botching up his personality even more. I've been trying to get a whole denial/hypocritical thing going on. He is so set on being completely stolid and on not letting any emotion show, and he's completely averse to all of those that enjoy living in someone else's shadow, and then eventually he becomes just like them. Or something like that.

Hmm. You think Lily is really _terrifying_? She _does_ seem to jump from one emotion to the next quicker than lightning strikes, but that's just because she tries to control her exterior due to fear of exploding something or someone. And because we don't see what's always going on in her head, it would seem like she just experiences severe mood swings. And thanks for your comments on James. I love him too.

And just because you enjoy writing villains, that does not make you twisted. Take me for example. I happen to find writing Death Eater scenes very difficult, and I'm _already _twisted. So no, the two are definitely not contingent on each other.

**Sarar – **Okay! I updated! Nu? You happy?

**WaterCharmer** - Yeah, those seniors, I tell ya. Hopefully they won't yell at you as much now. This chapter's significantly shorter than the others were. I've taken to heart the complaints that I had caused about three trees to be cut down due to bulk printing. Enjoy!

Thank you all so much. I am NOT abandoning this fic, but be warned that updates will be slow. I am really, truly sorry, but schoolwork comes first. Thank you to everyone for your amazing support. I love you guys!


	9. By Going Against the Pack

Author's Note: So…what can I say that accurately describes the guilt I feel at making everyone, including myself, wait this long? Um, sorry?

Okay, okay. I know that's not really a good excuse, but with everything flying at me over the past few months, even if I _had_ been in any condition to write, the chapter wouldn't have been in any condition to be read. And it stinks, and I'm a positively dreadful updater, and I am thoroughly ashamed of myself. But to be fair, Dumbledore is _immensely_ difficult to write, I had one scene well on its way but started from scratch to redo it in Remus's point of view because I can't write Sirius for the life of me, and the entire third scene was extremely draining mentally. And if it's any consolation, I tried to make up for it by delivering an oober-long chapter. Regardless of what the word counter on says, it's well over 13,000 words.

Right. So, in this chapter I tried using other techniques of characterization; I've found body language to be a very effective tool, and I'm becoming a bit more comfortable with dialogue. Please tell me what you all think.

But before I start, I just have to mention John Williams for writing the absolutely brilliant score to "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban." Lily and James finally have a theme song (which, incidentally, makes me cry every time I hear it) that suddenly gave me a burst of inspiration to write after about five months of nothing. It was weird…like a whole "fulfill-the-music thing." Yeah, um, so…

I am a strange soul. Onto the chapter:

**Music of the Night**

**Chapter 9: By Going Against the Pack **

_"He advanced to the council-table:_

_And, 'Please your honors,' said he, 'I'm able,_

_By means of a secret charm, to draw_

_All creatures living beneath the sun,_

_That creep or swim or fly or run,_

_After me so as you never saw!_

_And I chiefly use my charm_

_On creatures that do people harm,_

_The mole and toad and newt and viper;_

_And people call me the Pied Piper.'"_

"The Pied Piper of Hamelin" – Robert Browning

Thick, gray clouds of thundering smoke dominated the sky, swirling and spinning across the vast, bleak, blackness. Pellets of water shot down purposefully like skillfully fired arrows, striking the earth as a boundless target, and the incessant shrieking of wind and storm streaming through wooden branches resounded into the bitter night air. Torrents of freezing rain jets attacked Hogwarts castle, bouncing ferociously off of the turrets and windows, flooding the inside of the great stone edifice with rippling echoes of the sounds of water smacking on glass. 

This weather was simply glorious, Lily thought as she curled her legs underneath her. It provided an atmosphere of lazy wonder that was perfectly suited for warm blankets, fireplaces, and a few lengthy, engrossing books. When she had been younger, Lily used to love sitting on the ledge just below the big bay window in her living room and watch the little streams of water make jagged patterns on the glass, only to rush off in a moment of anxious frenzy to fall and join the other droplets that deluged the street. She could sit like that for hours with a book propped up in her lap and a mug of steaming hot chocolate in her hands, just reading and reading, occasionally looking up to stare out of the glass in front of her, dreaming of the places where the rain was formed.

Today had been one of those days. Lily had sat through three torturous N.E.W.T. classes, tormented by her insatiable urge to just skip her lessons and run madly to the Great Hall so she could lie flat on the floor and watch the illusionary rain nearly drown her. It was rare that she had these impulses, and she always found herself wondering and worrying whether they were typical to every other human being, hormone-induced, or some freak Cormagnus characteristic that she hadn't yet known about. And frankly, this uncertainty scared her a bit. So she tried to suppress these whims as best as she could and wait for a more opportune time to gaze idly out of a droplet-streaked window, namely…now.

But even with the weather the way it picturesquely was at the moment, she could not for the life of her sink deep into the cushions of the couch and even deeper in her book, because two people she generally called friends were making enough of a scene to make Lily consider dissolving all association with either one of them.

But only in a pretty, metaphorical kind of way.

Thalia was one of the culprits. Odd, sweet, and loving, Thalia was absolutely adored by Lily. What Lily did _not_ adore, however, was Thalia's uncanny ability to attract the attention of everyone in the room when she wasn't even trying to and to overwhelm entire legions of teenagers when she was. It wasn't that Lily didn't admire Thalia's joyful sense of humor, but she thought that sometimes she was just a tad too loud.

The same went for Sirius Black. Yes, despite herself, Lily found that she had been growing steadily fonder of Sirius. When he didn't ensconce himself in front of a random, stationary object and stew for hours on end, he had a carefree aura of spontaneity surrounding him that was very refreshing. It had always been there, but with Lily's tacit vendetta against the two black-haired Marauders, she simply had refused to notice that either of them had any positive qualities to offer. Now that she wasn't trying so hard to distance herself from them, Lily admitted that they were both extremely likeable. James was charming, thoughtful, and almost righteously adamant regarding his beliefs; Sirius was playful, witty, and altogether too suave for his good. And he knew that quite well, thank you _very_ much.

Of course, Sirius Black was also incorrigibly loud, particularly at the moment, when he was playing the role of guinea pig in one of Thalia's Divination assignments. She was experimenting with phrenology, and the sights of her hands crudely pressed into his scalp and his distorted expressions of suppressed pain and laughter were a bit hard to ignore. Especially now that Sirius found himself unable to control his occasional swears and banters with Thalia.

"This is – argh- the stupidest form of Divination ever conceived by man," grunted Sirius irritably, as his head was suddenly jerked to the side. "What idiot 'figured out' that you could tell the future by mutilating my scalp?"

Thalia, wearing a chipper grin, didn't appear to be as disgruntled as her subject. "Well, it was either this or examining the entrails of sacrificial victims, so consider yourself lucky."

Sirius grimaced and Lily and James exchanged amused glances over their textbooks. Neither one of them, it seemed, was concentrating all that intently. "They make quite the duo, don't they?" mused James with a slight smirk.

Lily rolled her eyes. "Please. If they ever got together I would spend the free hours that I _don't have_ groveling to any random deity I could think of to save the world from ultimate destruction."

A brilliant flash of lightning slashed across the sky and then a loud, ferocious rumble sounded in the distance. "Hmm," said James casually. "I think maybe they _are_ causing Doomsday after all."

Lily threw a pillow at his head playfully, knocking his glasses askew. He adjusted them in a showily dignified manner, and chuckled as Sirius resumed his whining.

In a few minutes, after Sirius elicited one last yelp of surprise that made a group of nearby Third Years turn their heads, Thalia proclaimed herself finished. When the others waved her over to where they were sitting, she held up an index finger. "Hang on a minute. I have to calculate this out." She then hunched over her parchment, muttering random phrases that seemed to have no apparent connections to anyone other than herself, and buried herself behind her long sheet of false black hair.

Sirius gave his head a vigorous shake and moved to plop himself next to James. "Hey."

"Hey. It's nice to see you in one piece."

"Thanks. It's good to _be _in one piece." He gave a little sigh of contentment and leaned back into the couch. "Where's Remus gone to?"

"I think he's in the library with Pete."

Sirius nodded with a bit of disgust. "So studious those two." He gave a sharp glance at Lily. "And don't you dare say what you're thinking, Evans."

Even though he sounded dead serious, Lily could tell by the familiar twinkle in his eye that he was just joking, as usual. "And what might that be, Sirius?" she asked with a saccharine smile.

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow. "That I should do well to follow their example and open a book for a change."

Lily smirked and looked back at her text. "You don't need _me_ to tell you that, Sirius dear."

It was rather strange when she thought about it. Her conversations with Sirius followed the same conventions that they had for the past six years, only now they were carried out in a light manner. And the reason for that was James. What Sirius wasn't willing to do for himself or for Thalia, that being to try to give Lily another chance, he was willing to do for his best friend, and his loyalty and good-natured attitude towards most things earned enough of Lily's respect for her to be civil back. Civility had led to acquaintanceship, acquaintanceship had led to mildly entertaining exchanges, and that had led to their renewed banter, and the familiar yet entirely different semblance of friendship.

Sirius ignored her comment and leaned back on the couch. "So what you up to?" he asked James.

James leaned back as well. The two young men slouching next to each other made for a very amusing sight. "I _was_ enjoying your girlish screams a moment ago, but since you've stopped that, I guess I'll have to come up with some other form of entertainment.

Sirius lazily punched his shoulder. "Quit it. I don't see you offering _your_ head."

"That's because he's worried about 'messing up his hair,'" Lily quipped without looking up from her book.

James crossed his arms over his chest in mock indignation. "I'll have you know, _Miss Evans_, that my hair is a form of _art_." He jerked an index finger at his head pointedly and quirked the left corner of his mouth upward. "It takes talent, charm, and a flawlessly handsome face to pull _this_ off."

"Yeah," she agreed. "That and an overly swelled head."

James stared back for a moment with his head tilted to the side. He wasn't laughing; he just seemed to be pondering something for a moment before he said quietly, "Well, you didn't offer either."

Lily felt uneasy for a moment at the way he was looking at her. She made a conscious effort not to squirm and let her gaze wander lazily over to Thalia, who was pouring over her parchment, trying to make sense of the knobs and bumps of Sirius's skull.

"Yes, well," she said softly. "With this hair, I doubt Thalia'd even be able to find my scalp, let alone tell me my future." Their gazes locked for a moment, and Sirius looked back and forth between them to attempt to discern what was going on. But not even Lily herself had the faintest idea.

An awkward silence followed, and then Sirius cleared his throat. "So," he said loudly as Lily distractedly picked up her book and flipped through it haphazardly, "how's it coming there, Thalia?"

Thalia looked up with a befuddled frown on her face. "Either my Divination skills need serious tuning, …or you're going to turn into a red guppy."

Sirius and James glanced briefly at each other, and Lily could see that James, who was nearer to her, was clenching his jaw unnaturally hard to suppress his hysterics. But then Sirius burst out loud in raucous laughter, and James couldn't hold himself in anymore. Lily watched in amusement as the two teenagers took to banging their fists on the table in front of them. Thalia at first seemed unsure whether or not they were laughing at her or at her obviously highly skewed prediction. Then she decided it didn't really matter after all because any way you sliced it, the whole situation was just incredibly _funny_.

Thalia had a pleasantly high, infectious giggle, and soon the entire Common Room was alight with laughter. Even Lily allowed herself a modest smile; it was refreshing to break the tension and gloom of the headlines with some genuine levity. Two torches over the portrait hole were lithe nymphs dancing and twisting in joyous flame of victory, and for a moment, a transient sensation of peace flitted through her.

It was broken, however, when the portrait hole creaked open and Professor McGonagall stepped through, a grim expression on her face. The laughter fizzled, then died completely. Every pair of eyes was fixated on her, curious, troubled, and severely disconcerted.

The only times Lily had ever seen a professor enter Gryffindor Tower were in the direst of emergencies. On one occasion, in Lily's fourth year, a girl two years older than she had collapsed on the bathroom floor, and every other instance since had been related to a Death Eater attack of some sort. She shuddered as the fire nymphs faded back into the tremulous light of flame that had once seemed so full of life. So quickly could pleasure and mirth be extinguished by one foreboding thought, she thought disconsolately as Professor McGonagall made her way towards her seat.

The professor breathed heavily and then addressed Lily and James in a sharp voice that miserably failed to mask the worry etched into her face. "Miss Evans, Mr. Potter. Please follow me."

Lily felt herself get up mechanically and follow after her professor, James trailing behind them. She was only vaguely aware of the many pairs of eyes following them as they left the Common Room and the Fat Lady's portrait swung shut behind them with a sickening creak. Her legs seemed to move of their own accord, and she felt like an automaton, moving one foot forward, then the other. _She_ wasn't walking at all; it felt as though she was being shuttled from one destination to another without any knowledge of it altogether. Every noise was sharpened, and she felt James moving swiftly beside her. She glanced up at his face. His jaw was clenched unnaturally forcefully; his hands hung stiffly at his sides in tight, rigid fists.

Before she knew it, the three of them were being raised up on the twisting staircase at the entrance to the office; she felt a sense of almost ironic trepidation. She knew that whether or not she stepped inside the dreaded room made no difference whatsoever; whatever had happened had happened and the deed would still have been done regardless of whether or not she knew about it. Nevertheless, she was filled with anxious foreboding at the thought of learning the news. And hearing Dumbledore's voice pronounce the sentence would make whatever it was finite and unquestionably true.

Dumbledore was waiting for them when they entered the room. The soft light of a candle on his desk gave his face a wizened, luminary glow. It also accentuated the fine wrinkles around his mouth and the oddly sad yet defiant look in his eyes. "Please, come in." He waved his hand at three chairs situated in front of the wide wooden desk.

Lily sat down next to James. Professor McGonagall still looked a bit pale, but not as much as she had when she had first made her appearance in the Common Room. Whatever shock she had had was now dying down, and she was recovering her wits sufficiently to be able to crisply relay the night's events to the Head Boy and Girl.

"I suppose you have some idea of why you are here," Dumbledore began, "and I will therefore say this as succinctly as possible, only explaining what is absolutely necessary for you to know at the moment." He paused briefly to look at Lily. She felt James give her right hand a light, reassuring squeeze.

"Aurors and Intelligence Officials have been reporting for some time about an army that the Dark Lord has been assembling. Of what nature or breed was undetermined, as he keeps his plans very well insulated. Even among the Death Eaters, few of his master schemes are public knowledge. Tonight, however, an act occurred that has confirmed some of our suspicions."

Lily slowly let loose a breath of air that she had been unconsciously holding in. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched James's face. His lips were drawn into a straight line, and his brows were furrowed over cloudy eyes. He pushed his glasses up his nose and sat straighter.

The portraits hung along the walls were silent as well. The men had removed their hats and looked gravely at Dumbledore. He stroked his beard. "There have been occurrences lately of a strange nature. You won't have read about them in the _Prophet_ because the Ministry likes to make itself appear more on top of things than it actually is." He gave a slight cough and continued. "People mysteriously appear for days at a time, and then return without any explanation of their absences. At first, experts suspected that it was merely a case of minor amnesia induced by faulty potions, but after what happened last night, there is little doubt…"

His voice trailed off for a moment while the thunder crashed outside, clouds rolling and pushing for dominance of the skies, gray clashing with the blackness. Lily closed her eyes for a moment and let the echoes of the rumbles soothe her momentarily. When she opened her eyes, Dumbledore was looking straight at her.

"Beauxbatons was attacked tonight." Lily blinked a few times without drawing in the information completely. "A young girl was kidnapped," he continued, "by the name of Juliette Gerard. However, it is not the girl that seems to have been the target. Her father mysteriously vanished as well, much in the same way as the others had."

"What did they want?" asked James in a rush. He blinked once and then looked down at his hands.

"It's alright, Mr. Potter. Please feel free to ask any questions. You too, Miss Evans," he said with a light blue stare at Lily. " 'What did they want?' I suppose you have guessed by now that the 'they' are undoubtedly Death Eaters working for Lord Voldemort. And the general consensus is that they wanted information from Mr. Gerard. He trains trolls to be bodyguards for French Ministry officials. We, that is, the Aurors and my sources, believe that Miss Gerard was either used as bait to lure her father into a Death Eater trap, or that her father was forced into giving over information lest anything happen to his daughter.

"The trolls were to be used in the Dark Lord's army, a battalion not of armed wizards, but of ferocious, uncontrollable beasts and creatures." He stroked his beard thoughtfully once more. "The Dark Lord is very clever. He knows that men can be bribed or cajoled to follow a certain path, be it for or against his; creatures without the ability to think for themselves simply do as they are told without question. His assembly will be loyal and unfailing." He rubbed his eyes. "It will also be deadly if it is not discovered and destroyed."

"But Professor," James broke in once more. "If you don't mind me asking, why do we only know about this now? What about all of those other people who disappeared?"

Professor McGonagall answered this question. "There was no apparent connection between the disappearances until tonight. The belief is that usually, the Death Eaters would question their man and then perform a mild Memory Charm on him so that he would only seem to have had a memory lapse of a few days. Then business would go on as usual, and no one would be the wiser about what had happened."

"Apparently," she continued in a clipped and apathetic tone, "the Death Eaters made a tremendous blunder tonight by causing a scene. They were not supposed to be seen by as many students as had been present, and when a professor protested, one of the Death Eaters struck. A scrimmage then took place. A few were wounded and one student was killed. Too many had witnessed the occurrence, and especially with the damage that had been done to the castle itself, it was impossible to Modify the memories of the residents of the school."

Lily looked at her hands and fought the churning sensation in her stomach and the tingling feeling around her eyes. _Don't cry…Please don't cry…You can't afford to now…Just hold it in…_

"Mr. Gerard vanished about an hour later," Professor McGonagall went on. "This episode follows the same conventions that the others did. They are undoubtedly connected." She stopped speaking then, and when Lily glanced over, she could tell by the minor tremors of her professor's lower lip that the latter was trying her hardest to sound as business-like as usual while really damming up the emotions inside. Lily felt a strange, fleeting kinship for a moment, and then James spoke again.

"So what's the plan?" His voice was methodical, logical, and blunt, but his head was tilted to the side in a slightly contemplative position, and his jaw was still clenched.

Professor Dumbledore leaned his elbows on the desk in front of him and drummed his fingers idly together. "Ah, yes. That is where you two" – He looked at Lily and James each in turn – "come in."

"Beauxbatons is in a state of absolute chaos, as is understandable. The castle needs immediate repairs to fix the damage that has been done to the interior, and the administration has also arranged for the Security Charms on the grounds to be updated. Beauxbatons will become Unplottable to avoid another instance such as our present case."

Lily felt her gaze wander absentmindedly as the headmaster spoke. She took in every word, but she felt it too difficult to look into that aged face with out bursting into tears. Her eyes settled on the strange bird in the corner that she had always been rather fond of. The few times she had been in Dumbledore's office had always been enhanced by the scarlet-plumed phoenix. Dumbledore cleared his throat lightly and continued.

"The students of Beauxbatons need to be evacuated immediately now that the school is no longer safe. The headmasters of several schools throughout Europe have been notified of the emergency and have agreed to host some students until the crisis is resolved. The students and faculty members that we will be hosting will be arriving continuously throughout the day. Due to security reasons, a large group of underage wizards should not be traveling together, so they will come in shifts.

"I will be counting on you two to welcome them and to answer any questions."

"And," broke in Professor McGonagall, "you will also be expected to help arrange for the Beauxbatons students' housekeeping. The House Elves have been notified and extra beds will be made available in each house. You will also need to rewrite the schedules for certain events such as Hogsmeade visits, the Halloween Feast, and other similar activities."

She peered at the Head Boy and Girl over her square spectacles. They each nodded in understanding. James began to rise to leave.

"Before you go," interrupted Dumbledore with a palm raised, "I would like you to take a look at my Fawkes." James sat back down and turned his point of focus to the bird in the corner. Lily admired it as well. "Fawkes was reborn yesterday. In a fit of smoke and a burst of flame, he was gone, but moments later he arose from his own ashes." Lily bowed her head; beside her, James raised his even higher.

Dumbledore's pained expression softened momentarily, but then returned, more pathetic and determined than ever. "This is not over. The Dark Lord will continue to assemble his creatures. He will summon the vampires, the giants, even the werewolves." James's face suddenly snapped forward, and his eyes were wide with realization. Lily didn't know what to make of it. Dumbledore seemed not to notice. "But we shall prevail. We will defeat this evil. Mark my words."

He paused, and Lily waited with baited breath. "I expect to see you up bright and early tomorrow morning. You two had best be off to get some sleep. Good night, Miss Evans. Mr. Potter." He made a small gesture to the doorway, and Lily felt herself rise from her seat and be ushered down the stairs by James.

As they walked along the shadowy passageways, Lily suddenly became acutely aware of the churning sensation inside of her stomach. Never in her wildest nightmares could she have imagined that Death Eaters would dare attack a _wizarding academy_ with so little compassion. A student had been killed…Others wounded…An army of savage beasts uncontrollable by ordinary wizard…What kind of man would show such heartlessness for human lives? What twisted excuse for a human being would mercilessly devise a plan to virtually obliterate all decency among wizarding kind so that he might come to rule the Magical World?

What _human_ would? Lily asked herself before she sighed and realized that Voldemort had long ago lost every ounce of humanity that he had ever possessed. A light crackling sounded as the hiss of rain splattering against the castle walls filled her ears. She felt a strange tingling in the backs of her eyes, and she her fingers begin to twitch uncontrollably, signaling that she needed to release her pent-up feelings as soon as possible.

"James?" When he didn't answer her for some moments, she turned her head and looked at her companion. His brows were furrowed and his eyes focused a few feet ahead of him on the stone ground; it appeared that he did not consciously know where he was going, but he was only moving in the direction of the Common Room because that was where his feet were taking him. He wore the thoughtful expression that signaled that he was having a lengthy inner debate. As far as Lily could tell, he seemed to be in this mindset more within the past few weeks than he had been in all of the seventeen years before that. A shadow briefly flitted across his face.

"James?"

"Hmm?"

"Well…Would you mind just walking me back to my room? I…I don't mean to make you go out of your way, but there's something I need to do there, and I'm a bit scared of the castle right now…"

He answered with a silent nod in the affirmative as he veered slightly to the left, signaling for Lily to follow him along a shorter route to their destination. Lily walked quickly to keep up with him, all the while mustering every ounce of her control to prevent her fingers from shaking too much and to keep her flood of emotion dammed up inside.

It seemed like forever before James suddenly stopped in his tracks a few feet from the entrance to Lily's room and cocked his head to the side with the out-of-place expression that she had been told she sometimes wore herself. "It's weird, you know?" he mused in a detached sort of voice. "One day all you care about is pranking Slytherins and the next you have to draw up schedules to accommodate students who were sent to you because they were threatened by Death Eaters."

Lily didn't say anything; it didn't seem to be the appropriate thing to do. James was talking to the air, and it just so happened that the person to hear him was she. And if he wanted to vent, she would stand and just listen.

He brought his hand up to his head agitatedly and began pacing back and forth. "I always wanted the big boys to handle everything. 'Just do what you can do and let people more qualified deal with the important stuff,' I thought. Nothing I could do about anything, stuck in a castle, not even old enough to Apparate. So no use coming out of your bubble of innocence, right? Just say a few comforting words and everything will be better for you, right?"

Lily watched him with concentration as he paced three strides to the left, then turned and walked three to the right. He held his hands behind his back, and his eyes were growing wild.

"You know what, Lily? The bubble popped. Exploded right in front of my eyes without warning, and now I'm tangled up in this mess. And I can't blame Dumbledore for breaking it…I don't think I can even blame myself…It's Him, Lily. That sick, sadistic bastard who think he has a right to destroy everyone's lives just because he _can_. But let me tell you. I'm not about to just stand here and try to get back into my bubble, because the only way to beat that son-of-a-bitch is to fight fire with fire…"

He backed up against a wall and started trembling. His face was pale, and Lily could see a painful defiance etched in the lines of his face. "James?"

He glanced up and only seemed to just realize that she was standing there. He suddenly looked calmer, and his breathing slowed down. "We _will _defeat him, Lily. Our bubbles have burst, and we aren't blind anymore. _I'm _not blind anymore. I'm not going to sit and watch our world sink deeper and deeper when I can be doing something to stop it. And I think I was given this position for a reason…" He absentmindedly reached up to Lily's face and brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. "I will fight, Lily." He gripped her shoulders for emphasis. "I will fight, or I will die trying."

And with those words, Lily suddenly felt a rush, an impulse, a need to embrace this embodiment of bravery and self-awareness. She felt cold and desperate, and she longed with every fiber of her being to grip this boy in front of her. She flung her arms around his shoulders and held him close to her, muzzled in his neck. She clung as though he was her lifeline, her savior, her only means of existence.

Then the feeling was suddenly gone, and she backed away awkwardly. James's head was tilted to the side in confusion, but he didn't ask what had happened. "Er…Good night, Lily. And thanks."

She felt a mild blush rise to her cheeks as she nodded and whispered her password to the statue of Orpheus. As the great stone fixture moved aside, she turned her head back slightly and said, "Good night, James." Then she stepped inside and closed the wall behind her.

She stood in place for a few moments and breathed heavily, leaning on the wall behind her, trying to process what had happened. The feeling she had experienced was so strange, so whimsical, and so unlike anything she had ever expected to encounter. But there was something else also, like a nagging at the back of her mind, trying to remind her of something she had to do. Then she remembered that she had come to her room to pour her soul into her piano. She took a step forward to the mahogany bench that gleamed in the torchlight, but then she paused and raised her palms in front of her face. Her fingers had stopped shaking, and with them had vanished that need for cathartic relief.

Puzzled and concerned about more things than one, Lily changed into a warm flannel nightgown and sat on her bed, gazing out of her window. The storm had died down, and through the fading rivulets streaming down the pane of glass, she could see the faint, fuzzy glowing of thousands of stars in the sky. She sat there gazing at the mysterious orbs and thought for quite some time, unable to sleep.

The next few days were a complete blur, even for Remus, who didn't have nearly as much to handle as some of the other individuals in the school. When he had awoken the morning after McGonagall entered the Common Room and had found every professor wearing black robes and exceptionally grim expressions, it was very clear that something was wrong. Professor Dumbledore had risen from his seat and calmly explained the situation, urging his students to be cautious, but not to worry to excess. Everything was being taken care of.

As a Prefect, Remus was given some extra responsibilities, most of which entailed looking after rowdy First and Second Years whose teachers were too busy perfecting the Security Charms on the castle to attend classes. As such, barely anything in the academics department had been accomplished over the past few days. However, Dumbledore had announced new changes to the curriculum that would ensure that the few days' lack of work would be more than made up for. The most significant was the addition of extra Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons to all students Fifth Year and above. Its purpose was to train students at an early age to prepare for the horrors that would await them in a world outside of Hogwarts' shelter. "It will be to no one's benefit if we live in denial," Dumbledore had said gravely. "The world is changing, and swiftly. _You_ are the future of wizardkind. _You_ must acknowledge what lies hereon in. It is only if we make conscious and determined efforts to do everything in our power to defend ourselves that we may live to secure a safe and happy future for the generations to come."

Remus had noticed that although most looked as though they were in deep concentration, taking in everything the headmaster was saying, there were a few in the corner wearing rather smug expressions, namely, Alex Nott, Timothy Avery, and their clan of snickering minions. Of course, Bellatrix Black, although the leader of the group, was not betraying the slightest bit of emotion on her face. There was something strange and enigmatic about her, Remus thought. He had no doubts about her capability to delve deep into the minds of those she wanted to influence, but exactly how she did it while remaining so unnaturally stoical was a mystery to him.

But the Slytherins were the least of his worries at the moment. His day had been long and hard. He had, on fifteen different occasions, shown twenty different Beauxbatons students, none of whom spoke coherent English, around the castle. There was babysitting the younger students too, and he had also helped James organize inordinate amounts of paperwork, schedules, charts, and maps of the school. They had hunched over one of the tables in the library for three hours as James carefully read through every document that he and Lily had already written up over the past few days. Occasionally he would make a few corrections with his quill and then suck on the end of it thoughtfully with furrowed brows while he tried to come up with any possible way to make any of the stipulations of any of the files either clearer or easier to carry out.

By the time Remus had first arrived at the library to help James, the latter had already been trudging through the daunting stacks of parchment for two hours, and when Remus left, James was still sitting in the same chair he had been in all day, not slowing down or complaining in the slightest. One of the things Remus admired most about him was his steadfast determination. He only wondered where his source of adamancy came from.

Remus had opted to give James a hand against the suggestion of assisting Lily. It was true, Remus greatly admired her and knew that she had only the best intentions in mind, but she was, for lack of a better comparison, far too reminiscent of Professor McGonagall to be an enjoyable companion at the moment. She walked through the hallways with stiff lips and a straight back, clipboard in hand, directing traffic. When she spoke or gave instructions, her voice was clipped and methodical. She was doing a fabulous job, but Remus preferred to be in more student-like company.

So here he was, hours later, collapsed on the couch in the corner of the Common Room. He gave a weary sigh as Sirius and Peter joined him.

"Hey," said Peter as he leaned back onto the couch.

Remus grunted.

"Tough day?"

"You could say that."

Sirius plopped down energetically. "We just finished meeting some Beauxbatons students who'll be staying in Gryffindor," he told him as he grazed the unusually full Common Room with his eyes. "We were just going to see if Hagrid needed a hand with the pumpkins he's growing for Halloween. I take it you're too pooped out to come?"

Remus rubbed his eyes. "Well spotted." He let his hands fall limply into his lap. "Where's James? I left him the library nearly two hours ago and then went to watch a group of Hufflepuffs. He's not back yet?"

"Nah," said Sirius with a shrug. "Actually not a half bad Head Boy, he is."

Peter grinned. "Bet you're not completely thrilled with that, eh Padfoot?"

Sirius scratched his head. "I dunno. I mean, he isn't as gung-ho as he used to be about…I don't know…re-enacting the resurrection of Dracula in the middle of dinner – "

Remus let his eyes close and turned the corners of his lips slightly upwards. "Yeah. Good times, those were."

Sirius picked at the hem of his robes. "Hmm," he said thoughtfully. "He's doing a good job though…And we need someone like him now, you know?"

Remus widened his eyes for a moment and then relaxed his face into a weary, yet satisfied expression. _Whatdya know? My boys are growing up…_

Peter opened his mouth to respond but was stopped short by a sudden shout from across the Common Room. The three friends turned their heads to see a cluster of Fifth Years being towered over by a dark-haired girl about half their size. "Like _hell _you were only joking! If you _ever _come near him again, lord, I swear I will hex you so fast you won't be able to tell the difference between your overly-swelled heads and the feet up your arses!" She angrily grabbed the hand of a younger boy and pulled him behind her as she exited the Common Room in a huff. The Portrait of the Fat Lady thudded with a menacing bang.

There was silence for a few moments as everyone registered what had just happened. Then Sirius stood up. "Well!" he said, breaking the sudden suspension of time with a tone of appraisal as he looked at the Portrait Hole. "That girl has some chutzpah!"

And Remus could tell from Sirius's satisfied stance and the gleam of admiration in his eye that that was a compliment of the highest order.

By the time the weekend rolled around, all of the students that had needed asylum were safe within Hogwarts' walls, and all matters that had previously been up in the air were settled as much as they could possibly be for the time being. Classes were now resuming, and Sirius wouldn't have minded all that much had it not been Saturday.

Such had been the topic of conversation for the last ten minutes on the way to class, as Remus was forced to listen to his friend Padfoot complain about the audacity of the administration to hold Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons over the weekend.

"Down right rude, if you ask me. As if we didn't have better things to do than listen to some new teacher babble on and on."

"What '_things_' could you possibly have to do _now_ that you didn't have time to do this week? You've had vacation for five days!"

"Yeah," growled Sirius as he wrinkled his nose in discontentment. "None of which were on weekends. Weekends are supposed to be fun and enjoyable, completely free of any serious work or thoughts to speak of. That is what a weekend _is_," he insisted emphatically, "and however many other lazy days we have over the course of the week doesn't take away Saturday's revered uniqueness."

Remus scratched the back of his head where the lining of his robes was tugging on his neck. He sighed. "Ah, Padfoot. I see now that you really _do_ need this weekend."

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "Hm? Why's that?"

"Because you're starting to sound like Prongs."

Sirius snorted, feigning indignation. As Remus glanced sideways at his friend he could see faint hints of amusement and pensiveness.

"Hmm. I guess Prongs doesn't really think about things before he says them, heh? Because that one just came out."

Remus pushed open the door to the empty Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and the pair stepped inside, adjusting to the glare that shone in from the tall prismatic windows at the far end of the opposite wall. "And that," said Remus with a knowledgeable air, "is why Prongs can get away with sounding halfway intelligent while you have light-years to go before you even come close."

"You're being particularly moody today."

Remus shrugged. "That time of the month."

Sirius laughed and plopped down at a desk at the far left side of the room, brushing a fairly long strand of hair out of his eyes. "Bet you're the only guy we know who's ever been able to say that."

Remus slid next to him and watched as a group of Sixth-Year Ravenclaws trooped in. "Well, I'm glad you find my condition so humorous."

Sirius shrugged offhandedly. "Hey. We both know that I don't want to be here. So just make the best out of a thoroughly rotten situation, right?" He gave an odd half-grin, and glanced at the door.

It was this levity with which Sirius approached the situation that calmed Remus down. He was always tense for the few days leading up to the full moon as his body adjusted to the transformation he would shortly undergo and his mind whirred and buzzed with worry and self-doubt. But then to see Sirius back in his element, nearly the way he was before the whole drama with his family, soothed Remus with the sudden hope that maybe things would turn out decently for a change.

Because there was no denying that things hadn't been completely chaotic lately, even by Hogwarts standards. Most people told him not to dwell on everything so much. "Just deal with the moment," Peter had told him more than once. "There are people a good deal more qualified to deal with the problems than we are. So let _them_ deal. You can't save the world, Remus."

But what Remus hadn't told anyone was the main cause for his worry. He had been starting to have strange dreams…wild, frantic nightmares that flashed in an instant with a hazy blend of lurid shapes and colors, none of which Remus could identify. He knew he was having bizarre dreams; what he didn't know was how exactly he was so positive that those forms were nightmarish and chilling, almost beckoning him to go…somewhere. And maybe there was some kind of subliminal message or calling behind those images, locked deep inside the most secluded recesses of his brain…Maybe the nightmares would eventually penetrate his conscious mind and unleash the secrets within them to reveal horrors that he could never have imagined…Maybe they would slowly eat away at his conscience, corroding his sense of self, controlling his every thought, every intention, every motive, every action he had never meant to take…

And maybe there was really no significance at all and he was just worrying about problems that didn't exist.

Remus shook his head and looked again at Sirius, someone with undeniably real issues. And he seemed to be holding up okay, right?

Remus rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands. It seemed like everyone was putting up a false front lately. He knew _he_ certainly was, and every time he had seen James or Lily that past week they had seemed almost outside of themselves…taking charge when no one else dared, claiming responsibility and burdens for the acts they didn't necessarily need to take on…Or maybe they were the only ones in the whole damned school who were actually grounded. It was so hard to tell…

And speaking of James and Lily, they were nowhere to be seen. Remus nudged Sirius in the side. "Padfoot?"

"Eh?"

"Where is everyone?"

Sirius leaned back, balancing his chair on its two back legs. "Pete's just getting some last minute things together, I think. Mumbled something or other about someone he wanted to see…I don't know. And Prongs is with Lily again, doing something important." He gave a coarse bark. "If he wasn't such an idiot and if she wasn't such a prude, I'd say they're always busy snogging." He snorted.

Remus thought for a moment and then shrugged. "Never underestimate the young and horny."

Sirius raised his eyebrow. "Jeez, you really _are_ out of it today."

"Yeah…"

Remus let the word suspend in the air for a moment before he noticed Peter out of the corner of his eye. Remus waved him over.

Peter looked a bit more awake than usual. His normally pale cheeks were tinged with red, and his step was lighter, not shuffling quite so much. "Hi…Just had to talk to someone about something. Sorry I'm a bit late."

He pulled out the chair directly in front of Remus and sat down on it backwards. "What's up?"

Remus shrugged. "Just waiting for everything to start I guess." He paused, waiting for the comment that Sirius was bound to insert, as he never passed up a cue to speak. It never came.

"Padfoot?"

Sirius's eyes were narrowed in distaste as he stared at the entrance to the classroom. In the doorway stood Bellatrix Black and Severus Snape, conversing in low tones while occasionally glancing in their direction. Snape directly stared at Peter for a moment, so quickly that Remus wasn't even sure that the glance had been real. But Peter certainly seemed to think it was, judging by the flush that passed over his cheeks.

He fidgeted slightly and then coughed and then glanced over Sirius's shoulder. His eyes widened before pointing with a lazy finger. "Say, Padfoot. Isn't that that girl from yesterday? The one who scared the wits out of the Fifth-Years?"

Sirius blinked and then turned around. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Wonder who she is," he thought aloud. "Can't be older than thirteen, no? And she's in this advanced class."

Peter shrugged, trying to make the motion seem casual, but failing to mask the effort. "So go ask her."

Sirius pounded his fist lightly on his desk. "Y'know? I think I will." And he stood up and began moving across the room.

Remus waited for Sirius to be out of earshot before speaking to Peter. "Thanks for that."

Peter nodded.

"And we'll talk about that little episode later," Remus added concernedly. Peter flushed again and looked at his hands. "Er, right. It's nothing really, it's just…"

"You don't need to rationalize to me, Pete. I just need to talk to you. Later." He gave a look that very clearly expressed that he meant what he had said, and then he went after Sirius.

When he reached him, Sirius acknowledged his presence and then cleared his throat. The girl turned her head slowly towards him and viewed him with an empty expression. Remus was immediately startled by her facial features; she had long, strait black hair pulled away from a tanned face, and her pale gray eyes seemed to be out of place in a face so dark. She wasn't necessarily pretty, but she had a certain air about her that would make someone turn to look again.

Sirius seemed unnerved for a moment, but then took hold of himself and grinned broadly as he extended a hand forward. "Hi. I'm Sirius Black."

She let her gaze drop to stare mutely at his outstretched palm and then raised her eyes to his face. "Camilla Clark," she said shortly. She paused for a moment as though she was deliberating what exactly she should do about Sirius's hand in front of her face, and then she shook it briefly.

Remus almost found the entire situation comical. Sirius wasn't used to such blasé receptions, especially from members of the opposite sex. Sirius had always had a certain effect on women, not necessarily in a romantic sort of way, but with an irresistibly humorous charm. Remus recalled that his own mother had been quite taken with Sirius the first time she met him. Called him a "perfectly delightful little boy."

And for this girl to betray absolutely no sign of recognition was unheard of, especially among the younger Hogwarts girls, who usually swooned when they so much as got a glimpse of Sirius's broad grin. This girl -- Camilla, her name was – looked far beyond indifferent. She looked highly _bored_, as though she had seen everything there was to see several times over.

But Sirius was never one to be deterred by a lousy first try. He ran his hand through his hair as Camilla looked back with that same patient, jaded expression. "You from Beauxbatons?"

"I just came from there, yes."

"Er…You don't sound French."

"I'm not French," she said bluntly. "I was raised in England. _What_?" Her last word was addressed to the small boy next to her, who had just prodded her in the back with an index finger. She muttered something in a language Remus couldn't understand. The boy nodded shyly and looked at the two older boys with wide, awe-stricken eyes.

"This is my brother, Michael," she said in that same flat tone. "Sirius and…What's your name?"

"Remus," he said warmly. "Remus Lupin." He held out his hand to the boy, who stared at it for a moment as though he couldn't believe it was real. Remus grinned. He remembered back to when he was a First Year and how much taller and wiser all of the older students had seemed. He imagined it was quite overwhelming and exciting for Michael to actually be approached by two Seventh Years.

It was easy to tell that the two new students were related. They both had that sleek black hair, dark skin, and faintly upturned nose. But while Camilla's eyes were that innocuous shade of gray, Michael's were dark, bright, and inquisitive, framed by long, almost feminine lashes. He smiled, revealing a deep dimple in each cheek. His face was perfectly angelic.

"How old are you?" Remus asked him.

"Eleven and a half," the boy replied shyly. "And Camilla's almost fourteen."

Sirius looked puzzled for a moment. "And you're both going to be in this class." The statement was in actuality a question, but it was not formulated as such.

"Yes, we're-" started Michael before his sister jabbed him in the stomach with her elbow. It was the first sign of emotion that Remus had seen from her. "For now," she said briefly.

Sirius glanced at the door. "It was nice meeting you," he said distractedly. "If you need anything, just ask." Camilla just nodded and looked back blankly; Michael gave a timid little smile.

Remus jogged slightly to catch up to Sirius, who had just reached his seat. "So what do you think?"

"I like her. A bit taciturn, but I like her." He raised his eyes with surprise, grinned, and waved his hand. "Oy! Prongs!"

James and Lily had just rushed into the classroom, both breathing heavily. It looked as though they had just rushed from wherever it was that they were within two minutes; Lily was still holding a daunting stack of parchment, trying to balance it while maneuvering her way down the aisles. James picked up a little over half of the pile so she didn't have to carry quite as much, murmured something to her, and walked across the room to sit next to Peter.

"Hey, Prongs," Sirius started, "You'll never guess-"

"Not right now, Padfoot."

"What?"

"I'd love to talk, but that new teacher is going to walk in in about five seconds, and I'd rather keep all of my limbs nicely in tact."

Sirius looked slightly puzzled, but then the room grew silent as a tall man of about fifty years stormed inside. "Good call," Sirius muttered.

The man was clearly a very powerful wizard. He walked with that confident bearing that only comes with experience and the ability to adeptly wield acquired knowledge. But he also wore a no-nonsense expression that Remus seemed to think wasn't there just as an act.

The professor walked to his desk and plunked down a rather stuffed briefcase. He then strode up and down the length of the blackboard, making each step distinctly echo before placing his other foot forward. He stared around the room through intensely narrowed eyes, resting his gaze on some select few. Remus felt himself shiver a bit.

"My name," said the man in a strong, slightly accented voice, "is Julian Minos. However, none of you will call me that. To you I am 'Professor Minos.' Should I hear any skewed, disrespectful, or otherwise cheeky variation of those two words leaving your lips, I will be forced to stick you out of the window and dangle you by your shnoz."

A few students glanced at each other uneasily, unsure of what to say or how to respond.

Professor Minos resumed staring. "My goodness," he said with a straight face. "You are by far the driest bunch of teenagers I have ever encountered. I made a _JOKE_!"

No one moved an inch. James coughed, but it sounded a bit like a snicker.

The professor rounded on him. "You! Stand up."

James shot up from his seat as though he were made of elastic.

"What's your name?"

"James Potter, sir."

"Well, _Potter_, you were laughing. Do you find me funny?"

"Er…"

"_Well_?"

James shifted his weight nervously, but then threw his shoulders back and answered. "I think you have a very interesting sense of humor, sir."

"Do you now?" Professor Minos began pacing back and forth. "And suppose I told you that _I_ thought I was side-splittingly funny. Would you find that you wouldn't be able to breathe due to fits of uncontrollable laughter if I so much as uttered a sentence?"

"I…I don't think so, sir."

"And why is that?"

"I've never been one to go into hysterics."

"Ah," Minos said softly. "I see." He then turned his focus to Peter. "You. Stand up. What's your name?"

"P-Peter Pettigrew," he sputtered.

"Well, Mr. Pettigrew. What about you? If I told you that I had never articulated a single humorous word in my life, what would you say to that?"

"I guess you'd only be about as funny as you think then, sir."

"And you wouldn't laugh, even if you found me funny?"

"I…I don't think so."

"And why is that?" He narrowed his eyebrows, and his expression held a mixture of curiosity and menace.

"Erm…You're rather frightening when you're not trying to be funny…Sir."

Some of the girls in the back giggled lightly.

"Hey!" barked the professor. "Settle down!" The laughter came to an abrupt halt. He turned to James and Peter. "You may sit down." Peter looked rather relieved.

"For the record," Minos said loudly. "I _was_ trying to crack a joke. "And --" His face broke out into a broad smile that Remus thought looked awfully familiar – "I hardly find that I'm especially frightening. You can all breathe calmly now."

The students exchanged glances.

"Really! Relax! I promise not to bite."

The tension began to subside as the class's timidity turned into mild confusion.

"Now!" Minos exclaimed, clapping his hands together. "How does one go about becoming a villainous psychopath?" No one raised a hand, too startled to think straight.

"Alright then, let's try something else." He began pacing quickly back and forth. "If you wanted to be a dictator, what would you do? How would you get your potential subjects to follow you? What would you tell them?"

Lily raised her hand.

Minos pointed to her. "What's your name?"

"Lily Evans, Sir."

"Alright, Miss Evans. What do you think?"

Lily took a deep breath and did her best to ignore the growls from the Slytherins at the back. "Well, I've always found a sort of pattern in history. My father talks about it often…He's a history professor." She paused for a moment. "A dictator, a _successful_ dictator, finds a way of catering to the masses. He finds the weaknesses, the loves, or the prejudices of the people and tells them exactly what they want to hear. He introduces ideas to make their dreams become realities, and even if those realities would involve torture, cruelty, or immorality, the people seem to disregard that because they're getting exactly what they want."

She stopped for a breath, looking as though she was unsure of whether or not to continue, but the professor's eyes were narrowed in concentration, and he nodded slightly, urging her to continue. She did, her voices steadily growing stronger.

"Eventually, the people begin to regard the dictator as much more than a head of government. He becomes omniscient and sacrosanct. The people will do whatever he tells them, because their loyalty to him blinds them to the consequences of their actions. They adopt his ideas and never stop to think for themselves whether or not what they are doing is right. And then if someone somewhere _does_ decide to protest he can't for fear of his peers, who might even kill him if he says anything against the leader…And…They're all puppets -- ferocious, brainwashed puppets. They…They abandon their ability to make their own choices, because all of their opinions are already spelled out before they get a chance to think."

Minos nodded. "Excellent. And can anyone tell me what happens to these subjects? Yes, Potter?"

James glanced at Lily and then brought his gaze back to the teacher. "They're giving up their choices…in essence…their humanity," he said softly. His face slipped into a glazed-over look of speculation for a moment; then he snapped out of his transient trance and stared resolutely back at the professor.

Remus looked at James thoughtfully as this was going on, trying to discern what was going on inside his friend's head. Granted, James had always been a bit…aberrant as far as teenagers went, but now the things he was saying were remarkably deep, and it sounded as though he hadn't been saying them just then for the first time.

Minos also stared at James for a moment with an odd expression on his face. "Yes…I think we have here some very interesting ideas. Of course, you all may be wondering why the hell we're speculating about the abstract while we're supposed to be learning defensive spells." He walked behind his desk, spun around, and planted his palms firmly on the wood. "Because in the long run, it doesn't matter a rat's arse how many curses you can deflect if you're going to be joining the ones who cast them."

He waved his hand carelessly behind his head, and a piece of chalk rose up from where it had been lying on the desk to scrawl out the names of several intimidating sounding reference books on the board.

"Mr. Potter used a very interesting word – _humanity_. A very intriguing term, hmm?" He glanced around the room, but no one did anything save stare back in befuddled amazement. Remus chanced a look behind him and saw that Camilla Clark didn't even look remotely interested. In fact, despite the fact that this was one of the most unconventional classes Remus had ever attended, the girl still insisted on looking flat-out _bored_, as though she had heard and done everything before.

"So how do you fight something with barely an ounce of humanity left to speak of? How do you ensure that you won't chuck away your own ability to think, feel, and act of your own volition?" He leaned forward, eyes gleaming almost manically. "You fight by being _yourselves_. You fight by going against the pack, by making your own choices and standing by your morals and ideals. If those morals and ideals happen to be to follow the Dark Lord…" He held up his palms. "Then I have no right to tell you otherwise, and you're probably better off returning to Professor Spright's class, because I'm not going to lecture about how to resist an intrinsic part of your character." His eyes fluttered toward the back of the room.

"For the rest of you…How do you discover your true character? How can you pave a pathway to your deepest desires and dreams, your innermost feelings and thoughts?" He stood up. "Well?" No one raised a hand.

Minos resumed pacing again, strolling casually back and forth. His body had the stance of one with explosive energy, but with the ability to carry it off in a lazy, off-hand manner, as though he wasn't straining to compose himself in any way, but just took his strength for granted because he had no reason to think otherwise.

He sunk his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the blackboard. "Can no one think of anything? Any manifestation of the unique, intrinsic qualities in a witch or wizard?"

Sirius raised his hand, much to Remus's surprise. It wasn't that Sirius didn't pay attention, as he was really quite brilliant, but he generally saved his comments for the quick spit-back type of questions, leaving the more intellectually draining ones for his classmates to tackle.

Minos pointed to him. "Your name?"

"Sirius Black." Remus nudged him. "Sir."

"Mr. Black?"

"Were you talking about an Animagus? Because it's said that the animal form chooses the witch or wizard…because they have similar characteristics." Sirius raised his eyebrows expectantly, and Remus became impressed despite himself.

"Yes, Mr. Black," Minos responded with that same poised air. "That's actually the exact example I was thinking of. Now naturally, I'm not expecting you to all become Animagi overnight, seeing as the procedure is highly complex, not to mention _illegal_ for witches and wizards of your age, –" Thankfully, Sirius kept his face innocently blank – "but there is, however, a certain incantation that may be learned that will allow the caster to view his or her Animagus form. Your assignment will be as follows." He paused to allow for the immediate scurry to find spare pieces of parchment.

"Do research regarding this spell, known as _Apparecium Animus_. Each should perform the spell on him or her self, but beware that it will be slightly painful, perhaps more so for some than others. You shall then consider certain traits of your respective Animagus forms, and try to discern elements of your own characters based on your findings. Be realistic, using what you already know about yourselves as a guideline, but be open to the possibilities that you may not know yourselves as thoroughly as you might have previously thought. Any questions?"

A blond-haired Huffepuff raised his hand. "How painful is 'slightly painful,' Sir?"

Minos answered with a sly look in his eye. "That too is part of your experiment. See how much pain you experience, what type of ache, and attempt to figure out what that tells you about yourselves. I assure you that every part of this assignment serves one purpose and one alone."

He raised his eyebrows. "Good? Good. Class dismissed."

Remus looked at his watch in surprise. There was still an hour remaining left to the allotted time for the class. He shrugged. It _was_ Saturday after all.

He watched as other students began filing out of the room, most looking rather astonished at what they had just experienced. Bellatrix Black, of course, was as stolid as ever, and she gracefully exited the room without so much as a glance in the professor's direction. Remus narrowed his eyes; he caught Peter shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'll see you two at dinner," he said as stood up. "You coming, Pete?"

Peter avoided looking him in the eye. "Er…yeah. Yeah, I'm coming. Dinner. See you at dinner."

Remus waited until they were far from the classroom, as well as from any prying ears, until he spoke. "So…You going to tell me what that was about back there with Snape and Bellatrix Black?"

Peter stuck his hands in his pocket and walked quickly, making his shuffling even more pronounced than usual. "It's…It's nothing really. I just heard her talking…She speaks really well, you know…So I stopped to listen." He shrugged, trying to be casual but only succeeding in looking nervous. "It wasn't anything important she was talking about, but something about the sound of her voice just….I dunno…pulled me in somehow. You know?"

Remus nodded thoughtfully, eyes still narrowed. "She saw you? You were talking to her before?"

Peter scratched the back of his head. "Well, yeah. A-a little. Didn't really say much, but she gave me this _look_, and…" He breathed heavily. "I…"

Remus stopped at the end of the hallway and turned sharply to Peter. "Tell me. What is it?"

Peter fidgeted with the hem of his robes. "It's just…Well, you heard Minos. 'They'll draw you in,' he says. 'They'll take over your head.' And when he asked me if I would keep quiet if he wanted me to, I said yes. But I'm not really like that, am I? I wouldn't give up everything I am to serve someone else, would I?" He raised his eyes and locked gazes with Remus. His expression was soulful, imploring, and utterly pathetic.

Remus let his eyes wander to the square window cut deep into the wall of the corridor. He watched an orange leaf tremor on an otherwise naked branch, only to be defeated by a gust of wind as it fell downward, spiraling to the earth. It fell just in front of a small black rat that then shot into the Forest.

He let his hands play along the windowsill. "No," he said slowly. "I guess that once you're aware of what could happen, you're more on your guard. You definitely have personality, Pete. You've just got to hold onto it." He glanced at Peter's worried profile. "As for Minos's class, I wouldn't worry about not answering the right way. Laughing at a professor's jokes is one thing…" He didn't finish his sentence. He felt it was self-explanatory.

Peter jerked his head down once. "Yeah… Right. Thanks, Moony. You coming to dinner?"

"You go on. I'll just be a minute."

As Peter walked off toward the Great Hall, Remus leaned back against the wall, deep in thought. It was just as he had said. Catering to a teacher's whims was etirely different than following the cruelest and foulest creature that ever lived, right?

And he narrowed his eyes wryly as he said to himself that he had no doubts that if the Dark Lord were to tell him to jump he would ask "How high?" The question was…If he would be told to murder innocent Muggles, would he say "How many?"

That evening was brisk and clear, alive with a sky bright with streaks of molten orange and scarlet. The air was refreshingly chilly, and James Potter was reveling in the moment.

There was something uniquely wonderful about being up their on a broom away from the entire world. Soaring amidst the sun's sinking rays held an aura of serenity, excitement, and freedom rolled all into one. It was just being _alive_. Just being _James_.

He sighed with contentment as he swiveled around in a great, sweeping spiral, plummeting downward. A slim black-robed figure was ambling down to the Quidditch Pitch; James touched down lightly to see who it was.

It was Lily, walking with her hands stuffed tightly in her pockets and thin shoulders trembling from the cold. "Hey."

"Hey." James leaned his broomstick against his shoulder and brought his free hand up to his hair to try to flatten it out. "What's up?"

Lily shrugged. "I needed to get out for a bit. Fancied a nice look at a sunset." She tilted her head slightly to the side.

James smiled and gestured to the blazing fireball that was the sun. "Yeah, beautiful, isn't it?" He glanced at her. "Care to have some company?"

She grinned. "I suppose it would be rude to say no, hmm?"

James shrugged jokingly. "By whose standards?"

Lily didn't answer, just turned the left corner of her mouth slightly upward and sat down on the cool grass, hugging her knees into her chest. James sat down next to her.

"There's something spectacular about watching a sunset when you're actually _underneath it all_, isn't there?" she said wistfully.

James nodded and then stretched out the full length of his body on the ground. "Absolutely. Best feeling in the world. Especially when you're in the air _with_ the sun."

Lily shivered slightly, glanced at James lying on the grass as if debating whether or not to join him, and then decided in the affirmative. She pulled the hood of her cloak up over her head and leaned back onto the ground. "Not that I'd know. I'm terrified of heights."

"Well, that's no fun."

She gave a small self-deprecatory shrug. "I like keeping my limbs in tact."

James laughed. "I'll get you up there yet, Lily Evans. And I'll have you down in one piece."

She gave a skeptical but amused glance in his direction and then pursed her lips in contemplation for a few moments. She turned her head away from him to face upward. "I, er…I actually kind of hoped I'd find you out here."

James raised his eyebrows in surprise.

Her eyes didn't leave the skies as she spoke. "I never really got to thank you for all your support, especially this week."

"What do you mean?"

"With everything going on at the castle, abroad, in the Ministry…" She sighed. "It was a little bit hard, you know? Coming out of a world where I was slightly off-center into a new one where everything was strange and new. And people looked at me differently because I was the odd, gangly girl who dropped in on the middle of their parade when she seemed to have no business doing so. And now with all of the murders…" She shifted slightly. "Well, not many would be comfortably taking orders from a Muggle-born, much less work alongside one. But you never seemed to let it bother you, and you manage to make all of the Prefects maintain _some_ sort of degree of respect. So…thank you."

James widened his eyes for a moment and then shrugged, trying to feign an air of nonchalance, but in actuality being quite surprised. Lily had never struck him as the type to be remotely insecure about any aspect of her personality, much less her status as a Muggle-born. And yet, a part of him knew that it was useless being surprised wherever Lily Evans was concerned, because he had come to expect the unconventional and the subtle. The girl had more layers than an onion and more facets than a finely cut gem, sometimes giving her a disposition laden with causticity, other times with unadulterated elegance. This was the first true glimpse of vulnerability. James liked it. It made her more tangible, less idealistic.

"No problem," he said. "I just never thought that it was an issue. I mean, to me you were never really a Muggle-born. You were always "Lily Evans, insufferable wench".

"Aw, thanks, James," she drawled sarcastically. "I am positively overcome with sappy joy. And, by the way, your feeling is definitely mutual."

He laughed at the way she always made herself sound solemn when she was being anything but. "No, but seriously. I've always found Muggles highly fascinating."

She quirked up an eyebrow. "Why?"

"I dunno. I guess I've always thought that they're just brilliant, able to do all of the things that they do without magic. You know Bill and Charley Weasley?"

"Sorry, no."

"Second and First Years. Respectively. Anyway, Bill told me that his dad is positively obsessed with anything and everything Muggle. He even has a collection of plugs."

Lily snorted, but then stopped herself as though she didn't mean to. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." He scratched his head in amusement. "I could see why though. I've always been fascinated by Muggle science and the way they use logic to formulate theories about the world around them."

"I used to also, but then I came here and…" She laughed wryly. "Let's just say that magic defies about every known law of science there is."

"Still doesn't make it any less interesting than it is."

She wrinkled her nose. "For you, maybe. I've never really been one for the sciences. My father always made me read textbooks about chemistry and physics though." She tilted her head. "He wanted me to go to Oxford. _Still _wants me to go to Oxford, as a matter of fact. I don't think he quite understands that my occupation will be within the magical community." She paused, letting the reflections of the coppery swirls in the sky dance in her eyes. "I think I have some of the books that my father snuck into my trunk when I wasn't looking. You could borrow them if you'd like."

James widened his eyes with excitement. "Really?"

"Of course."

"Thanks!" he said brightly. She nodded modestly in acceptance. It never failed to marvel him how she could carry out entire conversations without even expressing any remote desire to look at him in the face just once.

"So," he started, "what's your family like anyway?"

"Why the sudden interest?"

He shrugged. "I can't remember the last time we had a personal conversation, completely devoid of any mention of Head duties or intense morbidity."

"That's because I don't think we've ever had one."

"Well."

"Well."

He raised his eyebrows with a connotation of challenge; she seemed to find the topic acceptable, so she shrugged and began to speak.

"My mum's probably the most thoughtful person you'd ever meet. She always considers every possibly outcome to every possibly situation to make sure that no one gets hurts in any way. Of course, that means that she's overly cautious as well." She smiled wryly. "My dad jokes that she plans for disasters that don't occur. And even after a disaster has been averted, she plans what she would have done had she not been able to get herself out of it. And my father finds it endearing even though he's the complete opposite. The paradigmal eccentric, he is, full of odd little quirks." She shivered slightly as a breeze rushed past, temporarily tussling her curls.

"You cold, Lily?"

She tried to smile through chattering teeth. "A bit."

"Want my cloak?"

"That's okay. Then you'll get cold."

James held up a palm. "Do not worry about James," he said in a mockingly serious tone before he banged on his chest with a fist. "Me heap big man with heap big meat on bones."

"And heap big ego." She grinned. "Then I'll take that cloak, Sir Boast-a-lot."

He chose to decline retaliation, tossed his cloak in her direction, and leaned back on his palms, enjoying the sensation of having his hair whipped around his face as the sky played a dazzling symphony of lights, sparks, and luminosity above him. "Your father's eccentricities. Continue."

She pulled the cloak more tightly around her. "Well, just to give you one example…He, er, wears a bathrobe to the dinner table."

"Oh, like a dressing gown?" asked James casually, not finding anything particularly strange about wearing a bathrobe at a meal. He _did_ live with Sirius, after all.

"Not ex_act_ly. More like a smoking jacket. He comes home, throws on the bathrobe over the suit and tie he wore that day to work, and sits down to eat." She wrinkled her nose. "It's a disgusting bathrobe that he's had since before I was born. It has meat sauce stains on it from who knows how many years ago." She shrugged. "I think he's trying to live unfulfilled fantasies of grandeur by pretending to be elegant enough to wear a smoking jacket even though he's never smoked a day in his life. My mum just says it's something he did once as a teenager to annoy _his_ mother, and he hasn't grown up since."

She glanced for a moment in his direction. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Satisfied?"

James scratched his head. "Don't you have a sister? Patricia, or something?"

"Petunia," Lily said darkly, "and she isn't particularly pleasant company."

James didn't say anything, but figured that if she wanted to continue, she would. Her tongue seemed to be on a rampage that evening; he had never heard her speak so fluidly about her personal life.

She squinted a bit. "Petunia likes everything to be incredibly…_normal_. She was always the conventional teenager, and she always regarded me as some sort of freak." She shrugged. "I guess in the long run I _did_ turn out to be a bit of a freak, by her standards anyway. I just find it interesting what those standards are."

James furrowed his brows. "What do you mean?"

Her eyebrows curved in intensity and James watched as her long lashes blinked slowly, casting fleeting shadows beneath her eyes. "It wasn't just about the magic. Of course, it didn't help once it came out that there was a supernatural reason behind all of the things I accidentally did, but it was more an issue of personality clash. She spent the weekends gossiping with her friends; I'd strum my guitar in the backyard or read a book. She'd divulge her every opinion for the whole world to know; I always kept to myself. We're just different people, that's all."

James was silent for a few moments, unsure of whether or not to expand upon the topic further. But curiosity outweighed caution. "Does it…bother you?"

She tilted her head slightly, and James found himself idly staring at the sleek angles of her pensive profile. "No…" she drew out, "not _exactly_. Maybe it's just the lack of a sisterly relationship. It's like I _have_ a sister, but she's just out of my reach. Half a sister." She pulled her cloak around her more tightly, a black cocoon enveloping a narrow branch of ivory and bronze. "I don't hate her though. No. I definitely don't hate her."

James took a sharp intake of breath. "Do you ever get angry?"

She blinked slowly, and from the expression on her face, it looked as though she had played his question over many times in her mind. "I don't think she's worth the anger."

James didn't answer. He didn't feel that it was necessary. There was something about talking to Lily that didn't require a conversation to be carried out on both ends. It was almost as though the silence that would pass between them filled in the empty breakages in their speech…It felt natural, as though words and thoughts were melded into one.

He felt something strange pass through his midsection, and he attributed it to his lack of cloak. He lifted his face upward and closed his eyes as a breeze tousled his hair and stung his face. It was wonderful.

Lily moved after a few minutes to look at her watch. "Ah…I really should be getting back." She pulled herself up gracefully and looked down at him. "You coming?"

Her eyes were intense, and he temporarily lost all ability to formulate coherent thoughts as he watched the sunlight catch her coppery strands, creating a faint, halo-like glow about her crown. She stood with her small, narrow shoulders pulled back in a commanding, yet relaxed manner, as though she was aware of her capabilities and perfectly comfortable in the body that would perform them. Her stance held the poise and power of a duchess with the beauty and fragility of a long-stemmed rose. James felt his breath hitch in his chest.

She cocked her head to the side. "James?"

"I-I'm fine," he said in a voice much higher than he had remembered using in a while. "I'll, er, just be a minute. You go on."

She frowned. "Okay." She turned to go and walked back toward the castle, glancing behind her twice in puzzlement as she did so.

When she was gone, he turned up the sky, making out the faint pinpricks just becoming visible in the indigo sky. They seemed to be laughing at him.

And then it hit him like a ton of lead bricks as he become cognizant of a daunting, unavoidable, unquestionable fact. James Potter fancied Lily Evans. Again.

Damn.

**Author's Note:** Finally! A little romance a-stirring! Or, kind of. Hmm…

I must credit where credit is due: The line that ran something along the lines of "I'll dangle out of the window by your shnoz" was a favorite saying of my seventh grade science teacher. Odd fellow. And the little bit about Lily having more layers than an onion was a metaphor borrowed from "Shrek," although I didn't mean to draw any comparisons between my character and the big green ogre…obviously.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed since my last update:

**Vamperfly:** Enough L/J action for you? Well, by my standards anyway. There's actually _something _going on now (now that we're in the ninth chapter already)! Although just for everyone to note, when they finally do get together there won't be any of the "action" you generally find on this website. Kissing to a minimum. Just so I don't get your hopes up. After all, I can't really see Lily getting loose like that, right?

**Stella di Speranza** – Sorry it took you so long to read. When you sit me in front of a computer and the ideas come, my fingers just type of their own accord and then I'm like, "Holy _mother_! I just wrote twenty pages!" Except in the case with this chapter it was twenty-seven…

**Lime Juice Tub** – Yes, it is very, _very _sad, but I am madly in love with James Potter. Or at least _this_ James Potter. Which is a very sad thing, considering that I invented him. No, but seriously though. Lily is based heavily on myself with a few major differences, so since I designed James Potter to match Lily, I in essence designed him to match me. So if you know anyone exactly like him who happens to live in the Tri-State area, please introduce me. : P

**WaterCharmer** – You know what's really sad? You wrote my that review right before I went with my father on winter vacation. And now today (er, yesterday – It's nearly two in the morning, y'see) was the first day of _summer_ vacation. About the barrier: The first night in London I dragged my dad to Kings Cross Station to see the barrier. There's actually no barrier between Platforms Nine and Ten. There is a wall though, right outside the departure area, and there's a sign over it that says "Platform Nine and Three Quarters." I'll have to get it off of my dad's camera, then I can send you a picture if you'd like. Have a great summer!

**Lotrfreek** – Jeez, this is sad. In your review you congratulated me on my part in the play…a play that we put on _three months ago_. Ack. You were a dazzling Milky-White though. Moo. Have a great summer.

**LJstagflower4e/Cjtigerwolf4e** – Wow. I was so flattered. I'm glad it seems as though I thought through all the background because believe me. I think about this story entirely too much, considering that it's just fanfiction. And I find myself employing strange metaphors that I find obscure ways to connect…Sigh. I need a James.

**Pallas Analise** – I just wanted to say that your suggestions helped me out more than you know. I've always felt that characterization is the key element in a story, simply because without characters, the plot isn't really much of a story. But you're right that I developed my characters a bit too openly. As I mentioned before, I'm trying new techniques to convey the feelings I have towards the characters without sounding too forward. So out of curiosity, what do you think of Peter? Thanks again.

**Mymagic** – Yup. I've said it many times, and I'll say it again. Lily _is_ based on me…although I'm a mite kookier, wouldn't you say so? Ha. I went to B&N again today. That store is going to be the end of my savings. Ah well, we'll go again next week, shall we? Mwa.

**Maskedcat** – I was so flattered that you love this story that much. And you might be flattered back that I kept in the back of my mind to post this chapter before Saturday so I could make one girl very happy. You're definitely right about one translation of the title…I myself have about five different ways it fits the plot, but I'm all for self-interpretation about anything. And yeah, isn't the song "Music of the Night" spectacular? sigh

**Silverspinner** – Very interesting parallels you've drawn between the Pied Piper and the story. My own theory was a bit different. I have James and Lily on one side, the rebels who'll never follow the tune, then Bellatrix as the embodiment of evil who sucks everyone in. And I've been trying to draw similarities and differences between Snape and Peter. It just seems to me that while their motives for joining the Dark Side were most assuredly different, there has to be some common denominator between them. I've been dropping hints throughout the last few chapters…We'll see if they end up being clear.

And yeah, isn't it nice to see people thinking? Even if they're fake? I'm a huge thinker myself, so to write anything less than mentally draining would have me running around in circles, strange though that sounds. shrugs But I'm glad you like it so much. You're praise it worth a lot.

**Tread softly **– Thanks for your comments. About the whole train bit, I think it takes about six to seven hours to get from London to Scotland, and since this is September that we're talking about, it would make sense that it would get dark by the time the train arrived, no? Hmm…

And as far as the whole thing about Remus giving up his Headboyship, I don't think it's as integral to the plot as it is to James's characterization. Sure, I had to get it in somewhere how James wound up Head Boy when he wasn't even a Prefect, but I really did it to show that this is just another thing on James's plate. He never really wanted to be Head Boy, but now he has all of these responsibilities dumped on him, and to top it off, he has to live with knowing he's in a position his best friend should have been in. I kind of see Remus going to Dumbledore and humbly telling him that he shouldn't be in the running for Head Boy, no? Just seemed like the kind of thing he would do. I dunno.

**PrincessofBarzel** – Oh. My. Josh. I must've read your review about seven times and I never fail to wind up hysterical. Really. And I'm not going into specific comments you made because this is going on quite long enough but…

Woosh. It's so funny putting dozens of private jokes on review boards because complete strangers read these nonsense sentences and just stare quizzically at the computer screen for hours on end. So after I read this and then we went to Barnes and Nobles and sat for two hours huddled in the mythology section reading excerpts from books about Celtic deities and hellish demons, it suddenly struck me: By _George_, we're strange.

But to get a good laugh I must quote a line from your review that sums up the story in about one shot:

"Squealing was provoked by mention of James in his undergarments.

Giggling was provoked by mention of Lily thinking about James in his undergarments.

Blushing was provoked by realizing that _I _was thinking about James in his undergarments…"

Well said, my friend, well said.

Bundles of thanks also to **dd**, **eert**, **Elionwy**, **Suy**, **Compaq**, and **lalala**. You guys seriously make this all worth it.

Anyway, thank you so much to everyone for your support; please let me know what you think of this chapter. I'll try my best to get out another one within the next few weeks. Then I'm leaving for camp, and when I come back I start the notoriously hellish Junior Year, and I'll be taking three AP's so I'll be lucky if I get around to sleeping, let alone writing. I will try though, honestly.

Thanks again, and hope to hear from you all!

Elana


	10. An Island of Trepidation

Dedicated once again to the incomparable Sir Andrew Lloyd Webber, whose latest production reminded me why I fell in love with music in the first place.

**Music of the Night**

**Chapter 10: An Island of Trepidation**

James stuffed his hands into the pockets of his robes and made his way down the hallway to the Hospital Wing. Remus was there again this morning, a result of yet another full moon.

James sighed. He hated visiting Remus on occasions like this. Not because he didn't enjoy spending time with Remus, quite the opposite; he just couldn't bear the thought that of all the people a wild and merciless werewolf might have chosen to bite, Remus had been the selected victim. James scowled and kicked a small piece of rubble lying in front of his foot. It bounced off of the stone wall a short distance away from his toe.

Why should such terrible things have to happen to incredible people, people like Remus who possessed such unadulterated _goodness_? Apparently, even the righteous were not immune to committing the gross sin of being bitten, the sentence to eternal damnation, the anxious anticipation of three nights of hell, the pain of self-inflicted wounds, the subjugation of one's very own soul…

And then Remus would awaken from his living nightmare with deeply cut gashes freshly bleeding across his shoulders, glistening like perverted gemstones, and the stretch of time between nightfall and the reawakening would manifest itself in the form of an ubiquitous hole. James couldn't fathom the depth of Remus's strength. What would it feel like to have several hours of life erased from memory?

James felt himself bristling up the back of his hair in agitation. The Marauders' monthly excursions had never bothered him quite so much before. Yes, his best friend had that goddamn lycanthropy, yes, he had been forced to relinquish the Head Boy position that had been his right to claim, and yes, the full moon could bring woes only the most desperate could imagine. But that had been it.

But now any bright sides had to dissolve into flimsy dust because that sociopath who called himself the Dark Lord was wreaking pain and havoc on even more of the undeserving. Peaceful, innocent lifelines were being pulled into crude knots before they became so brittle and worn that they broke into helpless fragments.

James broadened his shoulders and raised his head with a mark of innate defiance. Well that lunatic sure as hell wouldn't break _him_.

He stopped in front of the doors to the Hospital Wing, straightened his tie and attempted to smooth down his hair. His body fluidly slid into the swift gait of relaxed authority he had come to don, and as he entered the room, he realized that this was probably about the time of day that Lily sometimes volunteered as Madame Pomphrey's assistant. The last time he had met Lily in the Hospital Wing had been after the night of Padfoot's unexplainable violence, back when she had still been calling him "Mr. Potter." James gave a wry grin. He had come a long way; he had to hand it to himself.

It turned out that Lily was, in fact, doing hospital duty at that time, and she happened to be tending to Remus, who appeared to be sleeping. When James had pulled back the curtain enclosing Remus's bed, he had seen a mass of dark red curls and had felt a fleeting sense of excitement. But then it turned sour when he saw that she was gently applying a salve to the wounds on Remus's upper chest and shoulders.

He didn't know why he should care, really. She wasn't his girlfriend, and if previous attempts on his part were any indication, she never would be. Besides, he had only first realized that he might like her a bit more than was wise a few days earlier. And he still hadn't told a soul.

He plastered what he hoped was a mildly surprised look on his face and tapped her on the shoulder, making her jump a few inches in the air.

"Oh, hi, James," she said a hushed voice. "You scared me there."

"Sorry." He pulled up a chair on the other side of the bed and glanced at Remus. "How's he doing?"

"No worse than usual. He really does have a rather weak immune system, doesn't he?" She resumed applying the salve. "Do you know if he's ever been tested for anemia? It might explain the bruising." She glanced up quickly out of the corner of her eye before turning away once again.

James shrugged. "I couldn't really say. It's not like I ask him about his medical history or anything. Not really my concern, is it?" He hoped she would take the subtle hint to change the topic of conversation. He knew himself well; if she kept goading him, he would likely say something incriminating and betray Remus's secret. That is, assuming that Lily hadn't already figured it out. Which she very well might have.

He studied her profile, examining for signs of acknowledgement. But all that he saw was a brow narrowed in concentration over those abnormally long lashes and the wizened eyes that he couldn't read for the life of him. What was it about her face that looked so knowledgeable and mature, and yet so innocent at the same time?

Worried that she would catch him staring at her, he let his eyes wander to watch as her fingers gently smoothed down a patch of gauze onto one of Remus's cuts. Her wrists were so delicate and narrow, he reckoned he could snap each of them in two; attached to the wrists were equally small hands. But her fingers were long and almost unnaturally skeletal, though they still worked with a quick and purposeful grace.

James narrowed his eyes. "Do you always rub stuff on the patients' chests?"

"Only on the ones who need it." The corners of her lips turned faintly upward. "Why? Jealous, Potter?"

For once it was a good thing that Lily rarely looked directly at him while she spoke. Otherwise she would have seen the brief flush that overtook his cheeks for a moment. "Definitely," he said casually. "You're better than Madame Pomphrey any day."

He grinned as she looked up at him. "She prods too much," he added.

Lily raised her left eyebrow in a crooked arch. "Nice save."

"Thank you. I thought so too."

She rolled her eyes slightly. "You're being prat-like, Potter." But her voice lacked the sarcastic edge she had come to use around him in years past. If anything, she now sounded vaguely amused.

"Yes, well, I think I've been so good these past few weeks that I deserve a little break." He showily ruffled his hair a bit to make a point.

She wrinkled her nose. "I hate it when you do that. Makes you look messy."

"What," he asked in mock indignation, "I'm not allowed to look messy?"

"No. You're Head Boy. You're supposed to be prim, proper, and ready to be professionally photographed at a moment's notice."

"Snape's been a Prefect for three years and he's been allowed to get away with looking greasy. I'd think I'm allowed to look messy. It's not nearly as nauseating."

She looked up through those long lashes. "Well, I don't think Severus has control over the oil levels of his hair. You, on the other hand, need an iron."

James scrunched his eyebrows together. "A what?"

Lily shook her head. "Muggle device. Which reminds me." She brought out a rucksack from beside her chair and unearthed what appeared to be an overly large textbook. With visible effort, she gave it to James; he felt his hands sink beneath its weight.

"It was the largest physics textbook I could find in my collection." She touched a finger thoughtfully to her chin. "So now you could teach me everything and I'll be able to go back home and dazzle my father with my incomparable genius."

James looked up briefly for a moment and grinned. "That was prat-like, Evans."

"Just wanted to see if you'd catch it."

He ran his hands over the smooth binding and flipped through the pages a bit. "Thanks," he said breathily. As he passed over diagrams and pictures he realized that he had absolutely no idea what any of it was about, but he was more than anxious to find out.

He could practically _feel_ the radiation beaming from his cheeks.

Lily tilted her head to the side with a slight half-smile. "I thought you'd be excited, but I've never seen anything quite like that expression on your face."

James raised his eyebrows. "And what's that?"

"You're positively _enraptured_." She smiled. "What is it about an old physics book that makes you look as though you've fallen in love for the first time?"

James couldn't stop grinning. "It's just…did you ever feel like you wanted to know _everything_?"

"No, certainly not everything."

"You know what I mean." He pulled the book into his chest and met Lily's gaze. "Like you want to uncover every secret and every mystery. Like just knowing one thing more will give you a sudden…epiphany or – or - _insight_ that could change your perspective on life?"

She didn't answer, and her expression turned to one of pensiveness, just as it usually did when she took an opportunity to transform a simple question into a matter of philosophical pondering. "You don't think that some things are best left unexplored? That maybe ignorance might be bliss?"

James shrugged. "Yeah, but there's a price to everything in life, isn't there? Personally, I'd rather take the risk."

Lily lowered her eyes. "Yes, you would, wouldn't you?"

But although her question was rhetorical, it seemed to James to speak fathoms of depth, as though she was encapsulating myriad thoughts and convictions into one small statement. The bright lights of the Hospital Wing were accentuating the coppery strands dancing about the crown of her head, and her dazzlingly green eyes looked up for an instant, flashing with recognition. James felt once again a quick intake of breath, and he doubted he would be able to tear his gaze from hers ever again, when he felt a dull heat spread on his outer thigh.

He jumped slightly, but then realized what it was.

"Ah," he said, forcing his eyes away. "That'll be Sirius." He pulled one of the heavy Mirrors out of his pocket. "He said he'd come by as soon as he finishes his detention."

Lily arched an eyebrow. "Detention again?"

"Er…You probably don't want to know." He shrugged and knocked a knuckle lightly on the glass. "Yup, Padfoot, I'm here."

Sirius's face swam into focus. A streak of polish was smeared across his left cheek and his forehead was dotted with tiny beads of sweat. Yet he didn't really seem to mind all that much. "Prongs, is Moony up yet?"

James glanced at Remus. He was in a rather awkward sleeping position, but his eyes were still closed. "Nah, doesn't look like it."

"Great, I get out of detention in a few. I'll swing by the kitchens on my way to visit. You want anything special? Think Moony'll want anything special? Don't really want anything special but you want to add to our stock under Wormtail's bed?"

James was about to answer when Lily gave a small cough.

Sirius grinned. "Ah, got female company, I hear? Out with it, Prongs. Who's the lady?"

James smirked. "Lily."

Sirius looked taken aback. Clearly he had been expecting someone a bit more exciting. At least by his standards. "Well, by all means, then." He snapped his fingers suddenly as though he had just remembered something important. "You know I never thanked her for these contraptions?"

"Er, yeah, Padfoot. That's what makes you rude."

"Hmm. Good to know if I ever feel the need to care. Give her the Mirror."

James shrugged and handed it to Lily. "He wants to talk to you."

Lily arched her eyebrow skeptically and pursed her lips. "So I've heard." She lowered her face. "Hi, Sirius," she drawled.

"Lillikins!" James heard Sirius's voice boom from the mirror. It was odd, hearing his best friend as a disembodied voice. "I must thank thee most profusely for thy unparalleled assistance in developing these highly coveted Mirrors!"

Lily winced visibly. "Your Shakespeare imitations are pathetic, Sirius. Now why are you in detention again?"

"Surely my Great Lady, with her glorious Titian locks and splendorous-"

"Sirius," Lily cut him off sharply, yet with a vaguely entertained air. "Why are you in detention again?"

Sirius sounded indignant. "Well, not that it's any of _your_ concern-"

"_Sirius_..."

"Oh, all right," he said huffily. James had to suppress gales of laughter. The hold Lily had on his best friend was oddly hysterical, partly because of the way Lily simply had to menacingly cock an eyebrow upward to make him scared stiff, and partly because even after these past few weeks, Sirius still found her intimidating.

James heard Sirius let out a loud breath of air. "My deed was done with good intentions, Lily, honest. I was in an empty classroom, helping out that First Year Charlie Bastion and his buddies with Levitation. It just so happened that when I did the wand motion, Professor Emory was walking by and his – ah – _hairpiece_ got the brunt of the Charm."

That was most likely a cue for Sirius to sheepishly grin or affect an innocent cherub-like expression. James saw Lily's lip twitch slightly. "When I made the motions for the inter-grade mentoring program, that's hardly what I had in mind."

"Ah, yes," Sirius said wisely, "but it takes a true innovator to expand upon original plans."

Lily sighed. "You're hopeless, Sirius."

"That I am. You want anything from the kitchens?"

Lily just rubbed her head and gave the Mirror back to James. "I honestly cannot understand how you live with him without going prematurely gray."

James ruffled his hair. "I've got it down to a science." In the Mirror, Sirius scowled. "Oh," James added, "bring me a pastrami sandwich, would you?"

"Make that two, " came a voice next to them, making both Lily and James jump in their seats. Apparently, Remus had been awake and listening.

"Hey, Moony," Sirius called, "is that you?"

"Yeah," James said. "So you better hurry back quick."

"Right-O," was the response. And then all that was reflected in the Mirror was a wide-eyed James Potter, hair slightly messier than usual.

He put the Mirror back in his pocket and then looked up to find Remus politely looking back at him. James raised his eyebrows in subtle questioning, but received no visible answer. He shrugged and turned to Lily.

She zipped up her bag and swung it over her shoulder as she stood up, straightening her shoulders to her regal height. "I'll leave you two, then," she said curtly without meeting either of the boys' gazes. "Feel better, Remus."

"Wait," James said, catching himself before he reached out his hand to grab her arm. "Erm," he said stupidly. Why had he even wanted her to stay a few moments longer anyway? And now she was standing there, casually shaking back that magnificent head of hair as though she knew that he was fumbling for words. "I'll…see you in Hogsmeade tomorrow?"

Lily nodded. "Sure. I'll be going with some of the girls. I need to get some new robes anyway." She gave a small self-deprecatory smile. "It appears that I've grown a bit since the last time I went on a shopping spree."

James blinked. "Alright then." He felt somewhat disappointed for a moment. "I'll see you."

After she closed the curtain behind her, James turned to Remus, who was regarding him with an obvious smirk.

James narrowed his eyes. Remus _never_ smirked. "What?" he asked cautiously.

Remus just looked back with that same knowing smile. He tilted his head to the side as if he were debating whether or not to speak. "I really should ask you the same thing."

"What's that supposed to mean?" James spat out, slightly more belligerently than he had intended.

"What do _you_ think it means, Prongs?" He blinked innocently in a way that for some reason made James very aggravated.

"You're pushing my nerves, Moony. You're lucky you're in a hospital bed."

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Defensive, hmm?"

"Of course not," James shot back, feeling the back of his neck growing steadily warmer. "Why would I be defensive?"

"That's a good question. Why _would _you be defensive?"

James wrung his hair in his hands. "Is there a point to this interrogation?"

"Absolutely. You like Lily Evans," Remus stated.

James opened his mouth wordlessly and then shut it. "I do not."

"Sure you do."

James was about to respond when he realized that there was simply no point. No matter how much he emphatically insisted that he had no feelings for Lily Evans whatsoever, Remus would keep emphatically insisting that James was a pathetic liar. And though he was a bit loath to admit it, James knew that that was true.

He let out a small groan. "All right, fine. Why do you always have to know everything anyway?"

"Because I spend a lot of time pretending to be unconscious."

James snorted.

"Fine," Remus amended. "Because you aren't exactly subtle."

James felt his eyes widen. "You don't think that – she – doesn't-"

"No, I'm sure Lily has no idea," Remus reassured him, reading his mind. He shifted slightly on his pillows. "You know, for someone so perceptive she is completely clueless sometimes."

James felt slightly relieved, but just looked up grimly and wrung his fringe in his hands.

"Hey," said Remus consolingly, "this isn't the end of the world, you know." He shrugged. "It might even be good."

James laughed bitterly. "Just like the last time, eh?"

He shook his head. Yeah, the last time had been fabulous. He'd bared his feelings out in the open, and she had managed to shove them in his face after spitting on his personality. Granted, she didn't feel nearly the same way about him anymore, but any unwarranted advances toward Lily Evans would be an invasion of her privacy. And if experience had taught him anything, he was completely positive that Lily didn't want anything of the sort. She just wasn't the type of girl to flirt or indulge a crush. Should she find out, she would likely stay away from him at all costs. He didn't know why Lily was the way she was, and he was still trying to find out, but he was at least certain of that much.

So for now, James was just going to play it cool. Act like nothing was any different than it had been a week ago, talk and act around Lily as though everything was hunky dory, and hopefully this fanciful infatuation would simply melt away.

"You know what?" James said resignedly. "I've got to go mope a bit."

He stood up and smoothed down his robes.

"When Padfoot comes…"

"Yeah, clue him in," James said bitterly. "But personally, I'd rather not be here when he laughs at me."

"Prongs, you're really making a much bigger deal out of this than-" He stopped when James shot him an ugly glare of warning. "Yeah, I'll let him know."

James gruffly nodded in thanks and walked quickly out of the Hospital Wing in the direction of Gryffindor Tower; he was suddenly in desperate need of a good fly around the Quidditch Pitch.

* * *

Before Lily had come to Hogwarts, October 31st had been merely another chilly autumn day of falling leaves and dropping temperatures. Her family had never been very religious, nor had they ever been inclined to celebrate commonly recognized holidays. In fact, the most notable days of the year were those such as July 7, 1977, when her father would wake them up at precisely seven in the morning to celebrate 7/7/77 with a tremendous plate of 7-inch pancakes. 

So she always found a Hogwarts Halloween to be particularly exciting, if not only for its newness then for its distinctly magical flavor. After all, where else would anyone find live bats fluttering overhead during dinner or be startled by talking jack-o-lanterns? It was times like these that made Lily exceptionally proud and awe-stricken that she was able to partake in such a miraculous occasion.

Lily smiled appreciatively and looked around the Great Hall, still a bit in limbo while it was being set up for the feast. She had spent the better part of her morning coordinating carriages that took the older students to Hogsmeade. Due to the influx of hundreds of additional students from Beauxbatons, the process took much longer than usual, even with Lily and James helping the faculty take extra security precautions and make sure adequate transportation was available - though for the latter job Lily stood slightly on the sidelines to avoid any contact with the dreaded Thestrals.

And now she was in the Great Hall, helping Professor Flitwick bewitch the portraits to cackle madly every hour on the hour. Though she had been mildly looking forward to spending the entire morning in Madame Malkin's with Thalia insistently trying to her force her to try on frilly pink dress robes though Lily had always emphatically held that redheads shouldn't wear pink, she still enjoyed the company of Professor Flitwick, who absolutely loved recounting tales of his adventurous youth. If for nothing else, Lily liked his nostalgic moments for the imagery they provided. Whenever he would tell of his exploits as a dueling champion, she would have fleeting visions of a pint-sized teenager scuttling around his much taller, much for formidable-looking opponent, who could do nothing but stand still as he tried to aim his spells at the blur whizzing around him.

"…tried to Disarm me, but a quick Confuddlement Curse had him attack the duel instructor instead, who found himself suddenly missing his moustache," Professor Flitwick piped as he carved out a maniacal grin onto a pumpkin. Lily smiled lightly.

"Oh, dear," said Flitwick, looking in front of the stool he was standing on. "We seem to be out of pumpkins. Would you mind running down to Hagrid's and getting some more?"

Lily smiled subtly and nodded and headed toward the entrance of the Great Hall, passing James, whose head was invisible, submerged in a tremendous vat.

"All right, Potter?" she asked calmly, a mischievous smirk threatening to show.

James, hair even more untidy than usual, lifted his head, covered in a sticky liquid. He smacked his lips together. "That sounds familiar."

Lily raised her eyebrow at his suspicious appearance.

James threw out his hands. "What? I wanted to make sure that when everyone went bobbing for apples the syrup would taste decent. I was performing a service to the general public."

"Oh," said Lily wryly. "How very _noble_ of you."

"Why, thank you," he said graciously. "I thought so too."

Lily shook back her hair. "I'll excuse you then so you can continue your exemplary work. I'm on a quest for pumpkins."

James stared blankly for a moment with an odd, far-off look in his eye before blinking and wiping some syrup away from his mouth. "Yeah, sure…" He coughed and grinned weakly. "I'll see you later then. Hogsmeade, right?"

Lily inclined her head for what felt like the twentieth time that day and walked out of the Great Hall, pondering James's strange and fickle behavior.

Ever since the two of them had been summoned to Professor Dumbledore's office that fateful evening a little over a week earlier, James's attitude had taken a subtle, yet distinctly apparent turn. Lily had thought it impossible for him to be any more determined than he already had been, but he had once again proven her assumptions wrong.

It was probably this knowledge that puzzled her more than anything else. As far as she could remember, Lily Evans had never been in doubt about _any_ character that she cared to analyze. She could usually observe someone's body language and facial expressions and arrive at conclusions that were almost always fairly accurate. But with James…

Frankly, Lily didn't quite know what to think anymore. A few weeks earlier she had pinpointed James's characteristics exactly, or so she had thought. Now he always seemed to be deliberately eluding and confusing her, speaking forthrightly and cryptically at the same time, and avoiding looking at her for long periods of time, as though he would be burned by her presence, despite his liking for spending time with her.

Lily opened the castle door and headed for Hagrid's hut, shivering slightly as a brisk autumn wind blew by. As she pulled her robes around her body she recalled her conversation with James a few days earlier, when he had casually offered her his cloak.

She had seen him before he had touched down to the ground, had watched him glide through the air in soaring loops, breaking the rigid gait of authority he had recently slipped into and replacing it with a blithe grace. He seemed to be a living dichotomy of responsible adult and carefree youth, a melding of a military sergeant and Peter Pan.

Leaves crunched beneath her feet as she walked along the path, and her thoughts were only interrupted by Hagrid's loud greeting.

"Is tha' Lily Evans?" he yelled from the pumpkin patch growing in front of his house. "Haven' seen you in a while now!"

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," she said, coming up to the thick, fruitful vines. "Things have been…complicated."

"Ah, well," he said without grudge. "Yeh've got a lot on yer plate now, I'd expect." He rose and clapped some dirt off of his hands, spraying it in all directions. "Reckon yeh can handle another?"

Lily squinted. "What was that?"

"If yeh don' mind, Dumbledore asked me to show yeh summat in the fores'."

"Oh," said Lily, puzzled. "Well, then, of course I'll come."

"Eh, knew yeh would," he said jauntily as he swung his crowbar over his shoulder and headed for the forest. "I told Dumbledore meself that he's got in yeh one o' th' most loyal students he could ask for."

Lily stumbled slightly. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said distractedly. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying when that crowbar glistened so menacingly in the orangey sunlight.

As they headed to the forest, Lily's anxieties heightened slightly. She had always enjoyed speaking with Hagrid because the simple and child-like joy he brought to ordinary things was unparalleled. But she couldn't forget his little obsession with all things frightening and murderous, and at times like this, when she was being lead into the Forbidden Forest by a giant man wielding a crowbar, it was hard to put all of Hagrid's redeeming qualities at the forefront of her mind.

They came to a sudden stop just in front of a small clearing, relatively close to the edge of the forest. Thankfully they weren't very deep in, so whatever it was that Hagrid needed to show her probably wasn't exceptionally dangerous.

Hagrid glanced around a bit. "Yup, this is th' place. I'll jus' give her a call now…" He cupped his mouth with massive hands and let out a surprisingly sweet whistle.

Nothing happened for a moment, and then Lily let out a gasp as a pearly white eye blinked from within a small shrub, staring straight at her. She brought her hand to her open mouth as a golden head bearing a single horn emerged from the bush. Hagrid beamed.

"Hagrid, is that-"

"A unicorn!" Hagrid said with pride. "Beau'iful, she is, no?"

"Beautiful doesn't even begin to describe…" The unicorn stepped cautiously out of the bush and took a tentative step toward Lily, peering up at her through pale, shy eyes.

"I'll reckon she'll let yeh touch her if yeh'd like," said Hagrid suddenly, although for the moment, Lily had forgotten he was there.

She stretched out a palm and slowly reached out, stroking the fur of the unicorn's neck. She felt a surge of electricity course through her veins, as though she was suddenly imbued with liquid purity. "Hagrid?" she asked absently. "Why did you want me to see her?"

"Well," said Hagrid, as he began gathering together some oddly shaped twigs. "Tha's a long story, tha' is. But in short, both 'er parents were killed by summat in the fores'. Maybe another creature, I dunno. But Dumbledore's been thinkin' there's trouble brewin' in the deeper parts. An' this poor thing'll be all alone with no one t' fend fer it."

The unicorn licked Lily's palm. "So," she said slowly, comprehending. "You want me to take care of it?"

"Well, 'twas Dumbledore tha' suggested it. Yer not expected ter feed 'er or anythin', jus' come by and visit 'er a few times a week to sit with her. Y'know, so's she knows she's bein' cared for."

Lily's eyes narrowed. "Dumbledore chose me specifically?"

Hagrid coughed and fumbled a bit with his twigs. "Yeah…yeah. Tha's right."

"But I'm not exactly qualified for this type of responsibility. I'm very flattered and pleased, of course, but wouldn't you or Professor Kettleburn be better suited?"

Hagrid coughed again, this time a bit more roughly, and out of the corner of her eye, Lily could have sworn that a slight blush passed over his face. "Abou' tha," he said awkwardly. "Unicorns, they like girls better, see? And it's better if the girls are younger…so they aren' so…_old_." She looked up, but he deliberately avoided her gaze.

Inwardly, she smirked a bit. Of _course_ that's what it was. Only individuals who were "untainted" were able to touch, and sometimes even approach a unicorn, she remembered reading. _Well, here's to Hogwarts' oldest and most responsible virgin_, she thought wryly.

She looked up as though nothing uncomfortable had happened. "I'd be honored."

Hagrid let out a breath. "Tha's…tha's good." He nodded and then smiled, bending down to gather some more twigs. "I'll be tellin' Dumbledore the good news."

Lily smiled and ran her fingers through the unicorn's mane. "I think I'll call you Levana," she said gently. "Would you like that?"

And from the soulful look the unicorn gave her, she figured that Levana didn't mind a bit.

"Aw, well, isn' tha' sweet," said Hagrid fondly. "I'll go now, get these to Professor Slughorn. Needs 'em for some potion or other."

"I'll come along, Hagrid," Lily called, giving Levana one last caress. "And while we're on the way, we could use some more pumpkins in the Great Hall."

And then Lily turned around behind her before setting off toward the castle, leaving a small golden unicorn gazing at her with the mark of unadulterated affection.

* * *

Sirius ambled lazily along one of the winding cobblestone roads of Hogsmeade, peaking casually into the shop windows as he tried he look interested. 

Which he wasn't.

Peter was scuffling alongside him with his hands shoved in his pockets. Occasionally he would glance at Sirius out of the corner of his eye and attempt a weak smile, but if he would ever attempt to begin a casual or witty conversation, he would prove himself unworthy to continue as his voice trailed off into an awkward silence. It seemed to Sirius just then that Peter's startlingly droll comments were only ready when he was listening to the other three Marauders, but when it boiled down to a tête-à-tête, Peter was positively hopeless. And with Remus still in the Hospital Wing and James held up at school fixing Halloween decorations, Sirius was left by himself to consider his relationship with Peter.

The truth was, not much of a relationship actually existed. The two didn't share any private jokes, they had never stayed at each other's houses, and they did not rush to tell the other one the moment a bit of news came up. All in all, Sirius's main tie to Peter was James. It was James who had convinced Sirius and Remus to give Peter some patience, way back when they were in the First Year.

Looking back and recalling their earlier years at Hogwarts, Sirius found it a bit surprising, even laughable, that it was James who had accepted Peter into their little coterie, considering the tremendous wealth of jerk-like qualities that had defined James Potter. But, James had said, Peter had been made a Gryffindor for a reason, and though they might not have understood why, if it was good enough for the Sorting Hat, then it sure was good enough for him. Sirius, so bursting with Gryffindor pride, had agreed readily, and Remus had too, though probably because he had figured that, if anything, he should really be the one on the outside, given his condition.

At any rate, although Peter had been more than thrilled to join the little group, Sirius had never felt completely comfortable around him. Maybe it was because of Peter's shifty facial expressions, or maybe it was just because their personalities didn't mesh, but whatever the case, Sirius was now left feeling distinctly awkward, a highly rare occurrence.

Normally, Sirius would kill for a Hogsmeade day. He loved the endless bustle of activity, the very taste of excitement in the air. But somehow without his best mates laughing and cracking jokes along with him, he didn't feel quite the same level of giddy gaiety that normally accompanied visits to the village. He thought a nice Butterbeer might help the melancholy.

"Hey, Pete? Fancy a stop at the Three Broomsticks?"

Peter looked up, startled. "Um, I actually just remembered something I…have to do. I'll see you later?"

Sirius shrugged noncommittally. "Yeah, whatever."

When he got to the Three Broomsticks he spotted Thalia in a booth in the corner of the pub. He instantly felt his mood brighten. There was just something about Thalia that seemed to make people happy.

When he went over to her he saw that the two others at the table were Karen and that strange Camilla girl, who was currently reading the Daily Prophet with unusual concentration and seemed to pay no attention to anything around her, least of all Sirius's arrival.

"Hey there, stranger," piped Thalia, waving avidly. "What brings you 'round these parts?"

Sirius grinned. "A seat, little lady." He tilted an imaginary hat. "If you'll oblige me?"

"What's that got to do with it, Black?" Karen asked brusquely. "Seeing as you'll sit yourself down anyway?"

"Good point, Jones," said Sirius, dropping his act as he slid into the booth next to Thalia. "And it's nice to see you too, by the way. Where's your other half?"

"Who, Hannah? Off with that arsehole Gilderoy Lockhart," Karen growled.

"You're not too fond then I take it?"

"What's there to be fond of?"

Sirius felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I like you."

Karen just snorted; Camilla didn't even look up. Apparently, Thalia didn't seem to think this was in any way out of the ordinary or awkward for anyone anywhere because she immediately began spewing every detail about the goings on in her life, as well as the lives of several other Hogwarts members she happened to know about from listening in on the conversations in the girls' room. And even though Sirius normally loved to be the center of the conversation, he still found Thalia highly entertaining.

"Oh!" she exclaimed suddenly. "I also just got a letter from Ted."

Sirius leaned on his arms and smiled. "Yeah?" He loved hearing about anything related to Andromeda and her family. It was as though she was the only remnant of his family life left unmarred by corruption and bigotry. _The light in the Black family_.

"Nymphadora's decided that she absolutely hates her name and will only answer to 'Tonks.'"

Sirius laughed appreciatively. "Not even six and already a rebel. My kind of girl." He brushed his fringe out of his eye in a pensive gesture. "Although, if I had a name like Nymphadora I don't know that I'd be crazy about it either."

"Yeah, easy for you to say," huffed Karen, whom Sirius noticed didn't seem to be all that fond of him, given her snappy tone, "you're the only Sirius Black for miles. You know how many Karen Joneses there are? I'm surprised I even get my mail." She brought a finger to her chin. "Maybe I'll change my name to something more thrilling, like 'Hestia.'"

"Nah," said Sirius. "That'd get too confusing."

"Well, then," said Thalia, clapping her hands together, "I guess you know the solution then, don't you?"

Karen raised an eyebrow as though she didn't really want to know, thank you very much, but Sirius caught the corner of her mouth twitch with the suppression of a smile. "What?"

"You'll just have to marry someone with a really unusual last name so you'll be completely unique. It's got to be something really _different_…like 'Smith.'"

"That's ridiculous." Karen crossed her arms over her chest in a mockingly indignant way, though she was clearly joining in on the routine. "I'm not getting stuck with some bloke for the rest of my life just because he's got a surname with a handful of z's and silent q's or whatnot." She tightened her hair band. "Besides, Thalia. That was a completely sexist thing to say."

"Ooh," said Thalia delightedly. "Getting all feminist, are we?" She pounded a fist on the table. "I say we hold a protest on the Quidditch Pitch next week. What say you?"

Sirius smirked mischievously. "And let's all burn our bras while we're at it. It'd be kinda hot."

"_Our_ bras, Black?" asked Karen innocently with wide eyes. "You'll be joining us then in our exhibition against men?"

Sirius inwardly smacked himself but instantly corrected his mistake. "That all depends," he said smoothly. "Will there be whips involved?"

Thalia slapped him upside the head, but laughed. "You're disgusting Sirius, but we'll still let you burn your bra."

"That wouldn't do. Black's bra is much too expensive," came a voice from somewhere in front of Sirius. He jumped with a start when he realized that it was that Clark girl, who looked just as she had a few minutes earlier, her eyes determinedly fixed on the newspaper in front of her; she looked as though she hadn't spoken at all.

Sirius cleared his throat. "Eh, you always this good at joining in a conversation at just the right moment?"

"I was listening the entire time," she said flatly as her eyes scanned an article. "I'm very skilled at multitasking."

"Hm. What else are you good at?" Sirius asked impetuously, though he somehow knew instinctively that flirtations of any sort would be lost on her.

She paused and looked directly at him, her strange gray eyes fixed on his own. "Hexes," she said simply, and resumed reading.

Sirius simply stared for a moment or two before cracking a small grin. "Well then," he said sarcastically. "I'll just have to behave myself, won't I?"

Karen snorted again, earning a look of disapproval from Thalia. "I wish you two'd just get along," she said huffily. "It would make life so much more pleasant for me."

Sirius leaned back on the palms of his hand behind his head. "Now now, Thalia," he said affectionately. "This banter might not be what you would call 'pleasant,' but I'd hardly call it '_un_pleasant.' And I'd know, considering I've caused people many unpleasantries in my time." He winked at Karen. "S'long as your name isn't Severus Snape I don't think you have to worry that much."

Camilla's head snapped up. "Who's Severus Snape?"

Sirius raised a wary eyebrow and rested his arms on the table. He felt Thalia stiffen beside him. "Who's Severus Snape? Only about the most foul excuse of a human being to grace the halls of Hogwarts. Well, excepting those with the surname 'Black,' of course."

Karen idly twirled the straw in her half-finished mug of Butterbeer. "What is it with you two anyway? I've never two people glare at each other with so much venom."

Sirius frowned. It was hard for him to pinpoint exactly why he loathed Snape with such a deep-seated passion. In fact, he couldn't even remember when exactly the hatred had been conceived, only that it had been and that it had grown and developed to new staggering levels of intensity ever since.

"I guess it started in the way any two eleven-year-olds hate each other," he said slowly as he watched Karen stir her drink. "But then, I dunno, it just kind of – grew. Mostly because I hated the way he always had his nose stuck in some book about the Dark Arts." He gave a wry laugh. "Growing up where I did that's a sure sign of lunacy, or sadism, or evil, or whatnot. In my family those all seem to come in a package together anyhow."

He set his lips in a tight line and looked up straight into Camilla's line of vision. Her face was still blissfully blank, much to Sirius's frustration. "It doesn't really matter anyway," he mumbled.

"Actually, I'd say it does," said Karen with a faint undertone of warning. "Snape's heading in this direction, and he seems to know that his ears have been burning."

Sirius looked up to see the pitiless black eyes of Severus Snape trying to burn a hole with his gaze. Even though he felt his muscles tense in the combative stance of a predator upon seeking his prey, Sirius noticed that this Snape wasn't the same one he was used to fighting with. This one stood up taller and actually made the first sinister move and dared to look at him straightaway… And apparently, this one had lackeys. Sirius felt his blood boil when he realized who said lackeys were. Evan Rosier and his very own brother Regulus.

As a kid, Regulus had worshipped the ground Sirius had walked on, had tried to copy every action or imitate any catchphrase that his older brother had. Even though they were only a year apart, Sirius realized looking at his brother that they were about as far apart as any two strangers could be. A brother wouldn't desert another in a time of stress. A brother wouldn't maliciously snicker about him behind his back. And a brother most certainly wouldn't go trailing after the most loathsome enemy of the one who practically raised him.

Suddenly, Sirius felt sick to his stomach.

"I'm feeling a bit ill," he said to his friends, though loudly enough for Snape and Regulus to overhear. "The overwhelming stench in the room seems to be upsetting my delicate stomach." He stood up and leaned his clenched fists on the table, making direct eye contact with Regulus. "I'm an exception. All the rest of the Blacks have strong enough stomachs to tolerate the odor of the company they keep."

And though the rest of the pub was in a low hum and flurry of activity, at that moment the only three people in the room were a powerfully irate Sirius, a Snape with a flicker of triumph flash in his eyes, and a Regulus, looking confused, as though at that instant he didn't know where his loyalties lay.

Abruptly Sirius stood back up, flexed his arms, and with a curt farewell to the girls at his table, marched right past the group of Slytherins and out onto the sunny streets of Hogsmeade.

* * *

Remus took a ragged breath and pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, bracing himself for what was sure to be an evening of food, drink, and very loud noise. Not that he would begrudge anyone a traditional Halloween, but he always felt a tad under the weather the days immediately following his transformation. The full moon had been two nights prior, and though Remus was still feeling weak and not at all up to partying in the Common Room later that night, he simply could not stand another day in that stuffy Hospital Wing with only his thoughts for company. 

The dreams were getting worse instead of gradually fading away like Remus had originally hoped. The swirls of color were more distinct, forming fuzzy shapes that were recognizable in Remus's unconscious state, and a voice had began murmuring low, sweet, enticing whispers of ill will.

_Nothing like a nightmare to set the mood for Hollow's Eve_.

Remus shook his head and headed over to where he saw Sirius hunched over a bottle of Butterbeer.

"Hey there, Moony," said Sirius loudly in a slightly garbled voice. "Good to see you better from-"

"Your furry little problem," interjected James, glaring at Sirius. "I'd think by now you'd know how to hold your liquor, Padfoot," he hissed.

Remus felt his eyes widen when he beheld the vast number of empty Butterbeer bottles scattered about the table. "Blimey, Padfoot, how much did you drink?"

James lowered his eyebrows. "Enough to know that even Butterbeer will catch up with you eventually."

"Aw, lighten up, Prongs," slurred Sirius. "It's Halloween. You've usually had more than your fill of alcohol by now." He raised his arm to take a swig from his bottle.

Remus grabbed Sirius by the elbow, catching James's eye. "I think you've about done it for now, Padfoot."

Sirius snorted, but agreed to leave his Butterbeer alone for the time being. "You're a right bore, you know that, Moony? You too, Prongs. I swear, you're hanging out with Evans too much."

Remus caught the slight twitch of James's upper lip, as though he was trying hard to keep from smiling. "I think you could do with another voice of reason. You can only take so much of Moony's nagging. I'll bet it's refreshing to hear it from someone else."

"You know you have a really splendid way of twisting a compliment into something almost completely insulting?" said Remus in a matter-of-fact way, stating rather than asking.

"Most certainly." And then James pulled his mouth into a wide, fake smile, flashing all of his teeth.

"Careful, James," came a peppy voice from behind Remus. "Your face might freeze that way."

Sirius squinted at the newcomer, and then his eyes widened in recognition. "Thalia!" he boomed. "Always a pleasure, darling! Sit right-" He pounded his fist on the table- "here!"

Thalia clapped him on the back. "I don't think this one should be left alone." She twirled, and Remus noticed for the first time that she was wearing an outlandishly garish fairy costume, complete with filmy wings, voluminous blond curls, and pointed toes. "You like? I've had it all planned out since last Christmas! I was staring at the ornaments because I had nothing better to do while Lily was sitting there studying as always – Oh hi, Lily, come sit – and I saw this little flying pixie, and I thought, 'Hey, wouldn't that be a great costume?' And well, isn't it just the prettiest thing you've ever seen?"

"Pretty is synonymous with unnervingly bright nowadays," quipped Lily, who had just come in and was standing behind Thalia with marked amusement.

Remus grinned. So far Lily had been the only person he had ever found that served as his match in the sarcasm department. James grinned as well.

"Don't be silly," laughed Thalia. "You're just jealous because you didn't dress up."

"As a matter of fact," said Lily smoothly as she sat down next to James, "I did dress up. I'm wearing my striped socks."

Sirius let out an odd noise that Remus at first thought was laughter, but then he realized that it was a hiccup. "What's wrong with Sirius?" Lily asked with a slight frown. "I've never seen him like this before."

"Well, I've decided to set something straight!" slurred Sirius. "And I'm letting you all know that I don't give a hoot about that bunch of fucked up bigots! Because I'm me and I'm me and I'm proud of that!" He brought a fist crashing down on the table for effect.

Remus narrowed his eyes. So they were back to this again. He understood that few people were truly comfortable expressing themselves, which was what made individuals like Thalia so refreshing, but Sirius's explosive temperament was bordering on ridiculous. Remus had thought that the days of finding Sirius staring blankly at walls while wallowing in self-pity were over, but apparently, all of Sirius's resentment towards the Black family had just been given a chance to spawn and fester.

"That's very good, Sirius," said Lily in a voice that reminded Remus of the way a mother speaks to a child, or how a doctor comforts a young patient who has just been given a rather nasty shot. "Now just look at me and open your mouth so I can make you feel better."

Sirius looked blandly at Lily, shrugged, and opened his mouth. Lily whispered a few quick words and pointed her wand at his tongue, emitting a few silver sparks. Sirius's eyes slid in and out of focus.

"He'll be fine in a minute or two," she said briskly. "I've just given him a light Sobriety Charm." She then noticed James, who was staring at her with a mixture of awe and admiration.

Remus chuckled to himself.

James shook his head. "I still don't get it. He always listens to you."

"Not just him," piped Thalia. "It's me too." She patted Lily on the arm. "You're a very scary person sometimes, you know."

Lily raised an eyebrow. "Thanks. Ill add that to the résumé."

Remus caught the look that James shot Lily out of the corner of his eye, the type of look that he had not meant to give and that he had no intention of her noticing. Luckily, she didn't.

Lily reached over and picked a candied apple from the center of the table. "Just out of curiosity," she said with her eyes on her plate. "How have you been doing with the Animagus assignment from Minos?"

James nearly spit out a mouthful of pumpkin juice. After swallowing deliberately, he rasped out, "Fair enough, I guess."

"I'm a giant dog," announced Sirius, having just woken up from his stupor. "And I'd appreciate it if we continued to talk about this and never again mention my Butterbeer habit."

"Fair enough," nodded Lily. She then deliberately turned away from Sirius without a second glance and said, "How about you, Remus? What form do you take?"

James and Sirius both shot him a cautionary look. "I haven't really been able to do it yet, actually," Remus said, adding a touch of embarrassment to make his excuse more authentic. The real reason, Remus figured out after many failed attempts, was that to take on an animal form was to have a human mind within a non-human body. And as Remus was neither entirely human nor entirely beast, he was unable to take on an Animagus form. He smirked inwardly. _I won't forget, don't worry_.

Thalia patted Remus on the arm. "That's alright, Remus. I haven't been able to either. I keep hoping I'll be a squirrel or a rabbit or something like that but when I try to do the spell I always feel feathers growing." She shrugged, then stopped and considered for a moment, putting her finger pensively against her chin. "You know, they're quite itchy too."

Remus felt himself cracking a smile, both of relief and genuine amusement, but stopped abruptly when he saw Professor McGonagall hurry ashen-faced towards them.

It was like a leaden weight had just been dropped into his stomach; his teacher was never one to be ruffled, but the way she was walking told him that she came as the bringer of drastic, cataclysmic news.

It felt like forever before Professor McGonagall reached the table. Remus took a sharp intake of breath as she calmly rested a hand on Thalia's shoulder. "Miss Tonks, Mr. Black," she said in a clipped tone, seemingly to mask an element of sadness or resignation. "If you'll follow me for a moment please."

Thalia just shrugged nonchalantly and got up, waving backward with one hand. But Sirius rose slowly and stayed motionless for several disquieting seconds. His gray eyes were narrowed in a mix of agitation and anger, and he steadily held James's gaze before silently trailing Thalia out of the Great Hall.

James followed Sirius with his eyes and frowned as a pensive expression crossed his face. "Them too…"

Remus looked out to the entranceway James was watching and saw Professor Slughorn leading Regulus and Bellatrix Black out of the very doors through which Sirius had just disappeared. He felt an ominous shiver dance its way across his back.

All around them, the Great Hall seemed unchanged as hundreds of students continued their buoyant conversations over Halloween dinner, but Remus knew that the he, James, and Lily felt the portentous change in the air. They were alone, an island of trepidation amidst a sea of joy.

* * *

About two hours later, Sirius and Thalia had not yet returned, and Remus, James, and Lily stayed anxiously waiting in the Gryffindor Common Room, which was silent save for the crackling of the flames in the fireplace and the rhythmic scuffling of James's trainers on the carpet as he paced restlessly back and forth. The air was laden with an oppressive, unspoken tension.

Remus, who had been sitting with his forehead buried in his open palm, sat up slightly and looked to his left, where Lily sat patiently gazing into the fire. She bore a blank, almost tranquil expression that suggested she could have remained seated in her rigid position forever.

After a few moments, Remus noticed that Lily was no longer staring into the flames, but was now watching James. A small crease of worry marred her forehead.

James hadn't noticed any movement behind him. He held his hands fast behind his back, and as he paced back and forth he bent his body at a sharp angle; he looked to be marching purposefully towards an unknown goal.

The silence begged to be broken. "What do you think happened?" Remus asked tenderly.

It took James a few moments to acknowledge that someone had spoken, and then he shook his head vigorously. "Something. I know it was something. Something bad. He shook his head again. And I know whatever it is, there's fucking nothing I can do about it."

"Well, we – we don't know anything, James," Remus said with deliberation, almost as though he were trying to convince himself.

"_Yet_," spat out James. "We don't know anything _yet_." He stopped in his tracks, silent and conflicted fury in his face. "For G-d's sake, Lily, say something."

Lily looked up slowly and thought for a moment. "I think you're right, James," she said softly. "Something happened, but for now all we can do it wait." She glanced at the portrait hole and back. "It's like you said. We don't know anything yet."

As if on cue, the portrait hole swung open, and Thalia rushed in so quickly that Remus only had but a split second to notice that behind her messy hair, her face was puffy and tearstained. She flung herself on Lily and let out a pathetic sob. Sirius emerged quietly and straightened, the lines of his body imbued with resigned sadness. His face was expressionless.

"Lily," cried Thalia with pitiful grief. "He got – He got Andromeda. She's – she's d-d-dead." She coughed, and Lily pulled her closer and stroked her hair. "Th-The baby too. Tried t-to save him…Boy…It was a b-boy." She collapsed onto Lily's chest, unable to support herself any longer.

Remus swallowed hard and looked up. James had halted in his tracks, but he wasn't watching Thalia; he was staring fixedly at Sirius with an almost expectant glare, but Sirius seemed determined to avoid his gaze. It seemed like a scene from out of one of his nightmares, as confusion and uncertainly took hold of every soul with no sound but soft whimpers of mourning.

Lily lifted Thalia's head and stared straight into her eyes. "Come on upstairs, Thalia," she said gently. Thalia closed her eyes and nodded her head once. She let Lily help her up, and the two walked slowly up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, Lily's arms enclosing Thalia's shivering frame protectively, like a mother trying to ward away all dangers from her child.

James had been watching the sorrowful exchange with a look of confused pain. His eyes had pulled down at the corners and his mouth made a taut, sharp line across his face. He turned to Sirius.

"Dumbledore told us," started Sirius with a deadly calm. "All four of us were there, and he told us that bastard Voldemort murdered my cousin in cold blood. She was out shopping in Diagon Alley." He clenched his jaw and let out a strong puff of air from his nose. "For potions. _For the baby_."

James made a small movement towards him, but then appeared to think better of it. Sirius hadn't noticed, and he balled his fingers into a tight fist as he continued.

"Do you know what the bitch did when she found out her sister was killed?" His voice became a whispered fury. "She laughed. That foul, warped bitch fucking _laughed_." He twisted his fringe in his hand. "She's – a _demon_, I swear it." He turned his head sharply to meet James's eyes and flared his nostrils ferociously. "THE BITCH _LAUGHED_ GOD DAMMIT!"

Remus flinched, but James didn't move a muscle. He just stared back, his eyes slowly assuming comprehension. "Padfoot…"

"Don't," Sirius snapped, pointing severely. "Just…" His arm fell, and after a few moments of deafening silence, he turned around and walked defeated up to bed.

That left Remus and James alone in the Common Room with a palpable tension in the air. James resumed his nervous pacing, occasionally bringing a hand to his head to conceal the red flush brightening the back of his neck. When he turned around, Remus saw that James did not bear a visage of sadness, but one of pointed anger.

"Prongs?" he asked hesitantly. "Do you want me to –"

"No," said James sharply. "No, don't stay, and don't wait. I…I think I'm going to sleep in _my_ room tonight. You just-" His hands fell, and he looked at Remus imploringly. "Just don't talk to Padfoot, alright? Promise me that."

Remus nodded slowly. "I promise." He got up, and his body felt as though it had aged fifty years. "I'm…going to go upstairs now…Prongs?"

But James had turned to the fire with his shoulders pulled back forcefully. He looked like a general ready to face the most defining battle in a bloody, drawn-out war. He did not respond.

And so, Remus somehow moved his limbs up to his bed and lay awake for quite some time, noticing the painful absence of Sirius's steady breaths of sleep.

Before he drifted off, Remus thought he saw fleeting images passing before his eyes…A fist crushing a delicate rose, a small rat, swirling stars…There was the soft hum of a distant melody, and everything went black.


End file.
